


Breaking the Surface

by TheUnaccomplishedWriter



Category: Sing (2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Break Up, Developing Relationship, Drama, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Interspecies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, M/M, Music, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnaccomplishedWriter/pseuds/TheUnaccomplishedWriter
Summary: It's been six months yet Lance cannot shake the infamy of dumping Ash. With animals sneering at him everyday, gigs having long since dried up, and now a girlfriend that's threatening to kick him out of her flat unless he helps pay for the rent, Lance must do something he feared he would never need to do again: get a job. With setbacks coming a plenty, Lance bumps into someone which becomes the catalyst for a lot of change for this porcupine rocker. (Rating may change in later chapters, just giving you fair warning).Also, and I think it's kind of obvious but here we go, I do not own Sing. It is property of Illumination Entertainment. I do own all my OCs however.





	1. Cold Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is something I thought about doing for a while and I've got a bit of writer's block with my other fanfic so I hope you like this! I'll try and keep this updated regularly! Please leaves comments and tell me what you think! Any feedback will help me make this work the best that it possibly can be!

“Lance!” Becky yelled, causing Lance to groan and pull the covers over his head as if they could protect him from his already irate girlfriend, something which was becoming a default mode for her, even at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning.

“Lance!” Becky called again. “Lance if you don’t get up right now I will come up there and kick you out myself! You know I will!”

With the memories and bruises still fresh from Becky’s last gentle attempts to get him out of bed, Lance reluctantly tossed the covers off and groggily got out of bed. Lance still wasn’t sure why he had to get up at the same hour that Becky did, it wasn’t as if he had anywhere in particular he had to go anyway.

Grabbing a towel, he pushed the bedroom door open and mechanically headed towards the bathroom, his brain going on autopilot so he didn’t see or hear the despairing look and exasperated sigh Becky tossed at him as his disheveled frame trudged passed her.

Twiddling with the shower knobs and tentatively placing his paw under the water, Lance stepped into the small cubicle, allowing the water to flow over him as he stood there passively. While Lance knew, and had been reminded by Becky several times that he constantly looked as though he had been dragged through a hedge backwards, Lance did try to make himself somewhat clean and presentable. But, with things going the way they were, there didn’t really seem to be too much point in worrying about his general hygiene too much.

Without paying too much attention, Lance went through the motions of lathering his fur with shampoo, rinsing it off and spending an inordinate amount of time drying his fur and spines. He really needed to get fur dryer but he accidentally busted Becky’s the other week and Becky wasn’t about to lend him his new one, so he’d been stuck with a towel dry for a while now, which was hellish and all but impossible to get his spines done.

Eventually giving up, shaking the excess water off his quills and allowing them to drip dry again, Lance wrapped his towel around himself and chucked his dirty clothes in the washing basket, not wanting another argument about the whole cleanliness thing this early again.

Heading back into the bedroom, with Becky too preoccupied with getting ready for work to give him anymore disparaging looks, Lance rummaged through one of his boxes for some clothes. He didn’t blame Ash for dumping his stuff in those boxes and shoving on the street. Well, at the time Lance remembered a lot of colourful words being shouted at the impassive front door but he’d been freaking pissed then.

“She’s overreacting,” Lance thought. “It’s not like I was going to do anything. She was just jealous. So some other girl likes me. What a fucking surprise! Had she not met me? I’m me! I’m the fucking bomb! Who wouldn’t be interested in me! Hell, if I weren’t me I’d been interested in me! She just can’t handle the fact that she may have some competition. That’s it. Just can’t hack someone friendly competition. She’ll be crawling back soon. This was all temporary. Just a bump in the road. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything with Becky. I mean, she’s nice and all but, I mean come on! I’m not that fucking shallow! This was all just temporary. Just temporary…”

But she didn’t come back. The door remained firmly shut and no matter how loud Lance would shout, no matter how often he texts or called, Ash remained as silent as the grave. Day after day he’d turn up and the same silence was his only reward for all his loud efforts.

He’d been rooming with Becky since he was kicked out. Sleeping on the sofa, obviously. He wasn’t in to her. She was nice and liked to play at being a musician, but that’s all she was, just someone to play along with. Nothing serious. Nothing permanent. Then he saw the concert.

Becky left disparaging Ash's performance but, as soon as she was out the room, Lance scrambled to the remote to watch her play again. She was… amazing. Her voice. Her guitar skills. Her power. That’s what it was. Her sheer, unbridled, unadulterated power. She had those mammals on their feet cheering. Cheering for her. Just her. He watched, jaw slightly dropped until he turned the TV off, dumbfounded.

“How can she do this to me?” Lance thought, chugging down another mouthful of Glendiddich whiskey from the bottle, the bottle nearly empty and an hour being lost to his internal venom. “ _S_ he fucking needs me! I made her! What’s she without me? A two-bit guitar player and I fucking showed her how to play! Could barely play a G chord when I met her and now she’s thinks she’s Jimi-fucking-Hendrix or something! Those people they… they wouldn’t know talent if it was wearing a massive neon sign spelling it out. Fuck them all! Fuck her! Set free? SET _FUCKING_ FREE! Set free from what?! She wasn’t trapped! She didn’t fucking escape anything! All I did was tell her a few truths! I’m not the bad guy here! She’s the conniving bitch here! I’m the good guy!”

Downing the rest of the whiskey and dropping the bottle to the floor with a loud clunk, Lance got up from the sofa haphazardly, his legs nearly buckling from the sudden movement. Looking to the bedroom where Becky had not re-emerged from, Lance stared at the door for what seemed to be an eternity, his mind contemplating his next move as the alcohol sloshed the rational thoughts out of the way, as he moved towards the door and was thoughts and warnings were consumed by the oblivion of the blackout.

Waking up, he didn’t remember what had happened, but he could feel the shame and regret hit him like a freight train. Looking over, he saw Becky asleep, her mouth forming a little smile as she lay next to her guilt-ridden partner. He placed his head back on the pillow, staring up at the bland white ceiling. There was no going back. He didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t undo it now. He’d become the very thing that Ash had sung about. Someone to escape from. To be set free. And now he’d ensnared another in his web. Whether it was the bottle of whiskey or his feelings, he had to run to the bathroom to get all the bile out of him, knowing whatever he brought out of himself, it would be a mere fraction of what lay within him.

The first few days were so beautiful for Becky. She kissed him so loving every morning, played with him at gigs, made dinners just to show how much she cared. She wasn’t the best at any of those things, but she tried. Goddamn she tried. He remembered her saying how perfect everything would be. How their life would be glorious and beautiful, not matter what anyone else said. Their relationship was all that mattered and they would have a life and home that matched. She was so hopeful, so caring, so… fucking naïve.

So here he was. Six months down the line on a dreary September day, still living out of the boxes that his ex had thrown out of their old flat while he lived a half-existence with a girl he never loved and turned her love of him into a deformed and decaying thing, it’s colour faded from its early bright hues to a near blackened husk of its former self.

Throwing on his usual get-up, Lance wiped away the last vestiges of sleep and cleared his mind of the bitter thoughts and headed out to get some much-needed breakfast. Schlepping over to the kitchenette, Lance quickly made himself some cereal and planted himself on the sofa, mindlessly skimming through the TV channels.

“Urgh, seriously Lance? Can you not do that at the table?” Becky said, still doing her last touch up of mascara with her pocket mirror.

“'Ow elsh am I gonna watsh the TV?” Lance responded slovenly, every word having to negotiate its way round the cereal in his mouth.

“Ew, that’s so disgusting!” Becky grimaced, before turning to check herself in her pocket mirror one last time for any defects in her appearance before snapping the mirror shut, satisfied with her work.

“Sorry,” Lance replied, swallowing the food and casting his eyes away from Becky.

“Got any more gigs lined up then?” Becky asked, her tone implying it was more to fill the dead air than out of genuine interest.

“No. Nothing yet.” Lance eventually muttered in response.

It hadn’t been hard to get gigs initially. Becky and he got gigs quite regularly, even becoming the favourites at some bars. For two whole months it had been going fine. Even after Ash’s rise to fame their bookings didn’t dwindle. They all knew she’d been with Lance but just assumed they’d decided to split and both had gone in different directions. At least, that’s what Lancer had been saying. He needed the gigs and, so long as they drew in paying customers, the owners were happy to give them time to play.

But then the article happened.

He’d been woken up by the phone ringing, with a very cold sounding manager telling him not to darken his door again. Three more similar calls later and very little explanations as to why all his gigs were being scratched off led him to search the internet. Maybe someone had written a bad review or something. It wouldn’t have been the first but definitely the first that cost him gigs like this.

He didn’t need to look far.

It was everywhere. An article with Ash promoting her new album and giving the story behind her hit single. A reveal all story. A reveal all story that included him. A reveal all story that included him that did not put him the best light. Or any light for that matter. It was a character assassination except the assassin in question had not only put a bullet in his head, but rather had dropped an atomic bomb over him. There was not a shred of light of him left, just the pit of blackness that was Lance, the ex-boyfriend who belittled an up and coming star’s dreams before galivanting off with some seductress of equal ill repute.

"It can’t be that bad, right?" Lance thought. "I mean, who hasn’t had a bad breakup? I’m sure this’ll all blow over soon. Something else will come up and overshadow this. No problem, I just have to wait this out. That’s all."

Waiting it out took a bit longer than expected. Booked gigs vanished, door slammed in his face, glares and outright abuse became the norm from animals he’s never even met before as well as those he’d known for years.

It was when he was out with Becky on their way to one of the few bars that hadn’t slammed its door in their faces that a boar strode straight across the road and stood in front of them, his eyes blind with rage, looking not at Lance, but directly at Becky, into her eyes, as if he was trying to look directly into her soul.

“You are a fucking whore.” And then he spat directly into Becky’s face and abruptly marched away.

With the boar stalking off, Becky wiped off the saliva off her face, flicked it to the ground, wiped her paws on her dress, grabbed Lance off and led him to the gig, his face still uncomprehending and unmoving. They played the gig, got paid, and went home. It had been their best gig yet. Becky, while not the best singer in the world, somehow broke through whatever barrier that held her back and let her voice soar. Even the mostly hostile crowd softly applauded her efforts. And all the while, through every song, every chord, every note, Becky smiled. A smile so simple, so innocent, so good.

Lance had never heard anyone cry so hard. She curled up on the bed, bawling her eyes out. Those choking, guttural cries were almost primordial. It was if the boar had split her in two, bearing her innermost self, open to the world to judge while she, flayed, could do nothing.

Through all of it Becky had been supportive. She told him not to take notice, held his hand, encouraged him to go out with her to do gigs, even going out of her way to book them for him when he was too depressed or drunk to do it himself. She’d been his support, a lifeline, a compass in this hostile and seemingly unnavigable sea of bile, trying to get him to the shore where her almost saccharine promises lay of everything just being fine. And now she was letting everything seep out and stain the sheets below her, as if everything that kept her up had snapped.

All Lance could do was feebly hold her. He didn’t say anything. What could he say? That it would be okay? Even if he didn’t truly love her, he couldn’t lie to her like that. Couldn’t promise those sweet dreams she promised him. It wasn’t his way. All he could do was hold her so she wouldn’t be alone.

She got a job in real estate two week later. It was good for her, she had always been a kind and chatty person so it suited her. She met other animals, animals who weren’t interested in the music scene. Normal animals. Animals into gossip, fashion, TV shows, all that jazz. Good animals. It was just what Becky needed and Lance wasn’t going to stop her. She needed something good in her life. Something normal. Something pleasant. Something that wasn’t Lance.

It wasn’t long after that the seams of their relationship finally started to fray. It was inevitable really, Lance could see it as soon as the headlines were plastered all over the online forums, but really the love was never there, at least from his side. How could it work when your relationship's built on a lie to start with? Yet somehow, neither compelled themselves to end it. Instead, they existed next to each other. They lived their separate lives, said the occasional nice word, though those turned mean-spirited sooner than either had anticipated or wanted. Mind each other turned into putting up with one another, eventually becoming Becky living while Lance merely existed, the vague bond of commitment preventing either from making taking the concrete step of severing the thin ties that kept them together.

Becky reached for handbag and, with a last flick of her hair, began making her way to the door. Lance had to admit, for all the bitchiness that had surfaced from within her, she still looked wonderful. Maybe it was because Lance was looking up at her from the sofa, Becky gave out a sigh, and turned towards him.

“Lance,” she began tentatively “I think it’s time to face facts. You need to get a job.”

Lance looked down at his cereal bowl glumly, avoiding her gaze. He knew this conversation had been coming, perched in the backgrounds of both their minds for a while like an unwanted guest. He didn’t want to face it, but he knew he would have to silence its incessant cawing at some point, and it seemed the time had come.

“I… I know, but it’s hard Becky.”

“Have you been looking?” Becky replied with a bit of sharp directness in her tone.

“Well, you know,” Lance said, rubbing his paw against the back of his head “I’m not exactly the most qualified person in the world…”

It wasn’t a lie per se, Lance had good qualifications behind him, but they were just from secondary school and thinking back to the days when he tried to get a job to help him while getting into the punk scene, many saw his GCSE’s of all A’s as being someone who wouldn’t exactly be there in a year’s time, so they all turned him down.

But Becky wasn’t buying it.

“Come on Lance, I know you’re not stupid and you’re not a teenager anymore. You’ve got some brains in there somewhere, so get using them and get a job! Anything Lance! Shop Assistant, Waiter, Janitor, bloody well anything!”

“You think it’s that easy!” Lance returned hotly. “You think I can just turn up somewhere and go ‘Hi, I’m Lance, that guy who broke what seems like the world’s favourite singer’s heart? Can I start Monday?’ I’d be lucky to get out of there with all my quills on my back!”

Lance was stood up now and seeing red now, the bottled-up rage built up within him threatening to explode. “Half the world crosses the street to avoid me and the other half to shout abuse or worse! What chance do I have Becky? What fucking chance…” The anger left him, his legs giving way as he slumped back down on the settee.

“Hate to break it sweetheart,” Lance continued dejectedly “But no-one’s hiring a cheating scumbag, and especially ones whose only accomplishment in his field of choice was managing to strum the guitar without setting it on fire.”

Huffing slightly and looking at her watch as if it was worth her time responding to Lance’s mini-tirade or whether she should get going to avoid being late. Looking up, Lance saw the determination in her eyes. She wasn’t finished.

“Look Lance, I don’t want to deal with your self-pitying shit right now. I’ve got to go to work and it’s getting old now. I got shit too, remember? A life that doesn’t revolve around the pity show that is Lance Morgan.” Lance winced. She only used her last name when she was making a point.

“Rent’s not cheap you know,” Becky continued, her voice rising in anger “And it’s about time you started paying me back. Do you know how much time I’ve missed going out with friends? Buying things just ‘cos I want them? Going to the pictures? Having fun?! It feels like an eternity and I’ve got a schmuck of a boyfriend who won’t try anymore because of a few bad words!”

Becky’s paws were trembling with anger and Lance’s could barely keep eye contact with her, the shame tasting like bile in his throat.

“Do you realise how I feel? Being with someone I have to mother just to get him to do basic stuff? Jesus Lance, I’m younger than you! I don’t need to be doing this shit! I know the world’s been unkind to you but whoop-dee-fucking-do! I’ve not had an easy ride either you know? I’ve had the abuse, the comments, the looks, but look at me! I’ve got a job, I’ve got friends, I’ve got a life! You, you’re just… a fucking embarrassment…”

Becky marched over to the front door, swinging open forcefully and stared out into the empty corridor. She seemed to stand there for an age before, she slowly shook her head. Not looking back to see Lance’s face, Becky said quietly, anger still on the edge of her voice. “I don’t care what it is you do Lance, just do something. Anything. You can’t coup yourself up in here forever. I won’t allow it. If you don’t, then I’ll…” Leaving the sentence unfinished, Becky left, slowly letting the door click shut behind her, leaving Lance with a pained look and cereals starting to go soggy.


	2. The Suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becky's given Lance an unspoken ultimatum. Get work or get out is what it boils down to. What will the now unwanted rock star do now? Is it time to join the idle race in employment or is it out on the the streets before joining the dole? Find out now!

**Hello again everyone! I didn't think I'd be back so quickly but here I am! Thank you to everyone who has read the first chapter! I will try and keep this story updated on a biweekly, if not weekly basis but I won't make any definite promises. For now though, i hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave kudos, bookmarks and comments!**

* * *

The uncaring clock on the wall ticked on, the seconds passing by unnoticed as Lance’s eyes remained glued to the closed door. His body remained still, his chest taking in shallow breaths to minimise movement, his fur and quills remaining quite static, his mouth unchanged from its thin line of disappointment. It was if some other had pressed the pause button on Lance in this very moment, just to take exquisite pleasure in watching this moment pan out. Only the bowl of cereal, gently resting in his paws, that gave evidence that time was indeed still playing on, with it gradually losing all its consistency and transforming from a passable nutritious meal into a wretched gelatinous paste.

It was only when his phone let out a shrill ping that Lance managed to shake himself from his reverie. Not bothering to check his phone immediately, already guessing it came from his disappointed girlfriend, Lance looked down at the unappetising wet mass he was still holding in his paws. Sighing slightly, Lance slowly got up before mechanically spooning the contents into the bin, convincing himself that he didn’t really feel like eating that morning anyway.

Turning back to the empty flat, Lance took in the familiar scene. Little had changed from when he first became a permanent lodger. A small purple sofa with assorted cushions, now sagging slightly from the continuous slobbing sessions Lance had become accustomed to in his semi-professional unemployment. The subdued pink walls, pink shelves, pink picture frames, reminders of Becky’s status of the designer of the space he existed in. The small window hung high upon the wall that used to let in rays of warmth and promise from those brief summer moments of peace, now looking glum with cobwebs and specks of rain masking its former glory. Lance’s light blue electric guitar resting in the corner of the room, dust coating its body, stickers peeling off.

Lance groaned lightly. Looking over the room before him, what was truly his? What mark had he left there, apart from where he hunkered down on the sofa for most the day? A few boxes of his belongings and a guitar that hadn’t been touched in months.

"I am an embarrassment, aren’t I?" Lance’s inner voice chided.

Before the guilt could took root, his stomach derailed his thoughts, rumbling like an imminent earthquake. Patting his gut, Lance quickly made himself another bowl of cereals, even splurging out on some blueberries on top because, as Lance thought; "Fuck it. If I’m gonna pity myself I’m gonna do it with a half decent breakfast."

Robotically shovelling the sweet nourishment down his gullet, Lance idly checked his phone for the text. He didn’t bother unlocking the phone. The first lines were a reminder for him to start looking for work. He knew the rest would be passive aggressive comments on his layabout ways of late. He shoved the phone back in his pocket, knowing Becky would be getting annoyed that she couldn’t see the delivered change to read on her phone, with fellow commuters probably sneaking glances at this silently seething porcupine.

After chucking the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, with Lance not wanting to press his luck too much, he plonked himself down on the sofa. Fishing his phone out of his pocket again, Lance begrudgingly booted up the internet and quickly typed local jobs in my area, a phrase that he dreaded typing even as a kid in those endlessly pointless careers advise sessions.

Hitting the search button, numerous sites popped up, all advertising various jobs of medium skill level all the way down to if you have eyes and possibly at least one functioning limb, you can do this job. Cleaning jobs, admin jobs, sales jobs, call centre jobs, trainees, apprentices, managers, the whole kit and caboodle. The list just kept going. Reams and reams of jobs that barely held any flicker of excitement for Lance.

After getting some sticky notes to jot down jobs that looked potentially interesting or at least easy to do, Lance poured through the requirements, putting them into to ring or send email pile or make attempt to be like Michael Jordan and dunk it in the bin from the sofa pile. By the end of it all, Lance had a small pile of jobs remaining, the others scrunched up and strewn around the bin in the corner, with only one managing to hit its target.

Placing the possibles in front of him, he decided to go with the ones that didn’t need to send an email off first, pushing the admin job off in the corner for a moment. Picking up the one nearest to him, a bar job at _The Stable_ , Lance whipped his phone back out of his pocket and quickly dialled the number, hoping it wasn’t too early for the bar to be open, seeing it was only just gone 10:30 by that point.

He knew _The Stable_. It was one of the few jobs Lance had done. Granted he was 19 when he started but a fake ID, an unobservant manager, his deep voice, and the fact he’d briefly worked in a bar before moving managed to bag him the job. He’d only just moved to the city and had unexpectedly gotten together with Ash. Everything had moved so quickly with her and, after a few months, they were already moving in together and planning their career as rock stars in between Lance giving Ash guitar lessons. Suffice to say, the pocket change he’d been earning from busking around town was not enough, so swindling that bare job was the answer to the teenage porcupine’s problems.

Despite its temporary nature, it was one of the few jobs he’d done between dry stints in gigging that he enjoyed. He knew how to mix drinks, feign interest in the punters, laugh at terrible jokes convincingly, and could give a threatening tone to animals stepping out of line before the bouncers kindly and forcefully asked them to leave. He didn’t get too close to the animals working there though. Others went out after work, chatted shit and whatnot. Lance chatted along with them during work but, once his shift was over, he was out the door and going making his way to his next gig. He didn’t have time for other people. He was destined for stardom. Others just got in his way.

Thinking back on it though, there was one customer that he could probably call his friend. He was a very well-spoken, very affable, very well dressed, and at times very pissed, hedgehog bachelor in the later stages of middle age called Gregory. He liked Gregory from the off when, after serving him his first drink, he looked him in the eye and, with his most charming voice, pronounced him a ‘scholar and a gentleman’. Lance couldn’t help but laugh. That’s the kind of guy Gregory was, polite to a fault.

Though he wasn’t without his little foibles, like any other animal. After a few occasions, Lance twigged that Gregory would ask for the drinks on the highest shelves on purpose, so while Lance was perched on the step ladder and stretching up to whatever bottle he wanted that day, he’d be unabashedly staring at his ass, his eyes showing the pleasure while his face maintaining his poker face. Lance didn’t care though. Lance even defended Gregory’s leering when some other customer came over to accost him of his perceived poor behaviour. He never made lewd comments and knew Lance had a girlfriend, even asking after her every so often with genuine interest. He was interested din his musical aspirations and always listened when he spoke, not just nodding along politely, but took an active interest. He cared about Lance and, thinking on it, Lance cared about the guy too. He was sweet in his own way.

In the months that he worked there, Lance got to know Gregory very well. Probably better than anyone else in the entire bar. Customers and staff knew who he was, but barely spoke to him whenever Lance wasn’t available to serve him. It was just business as usual for them and, in fairness, Gregory didn’t open up as much with others. It was only when Lance hove into view that he became animated, the light returning in his eyes.

Talking with Gregory, he learnt a lot about the guy. Despite being mistaken for a bar prop, he was actually a hot shot banker, someone high up in management that didn’t need to be in the office all the time. ‘ _Mainly stuff on the phone, you know the type, morons really’_ Gregory had said to him, Lance finding his blunt assessment of his entire profession amusing. He lived alone in his small flat that he had shared with Noel. He had shown him a picture of them in their younger years. It was a bit faded but they were there, arms in arm, smiling as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

He met Noel when he took his car to be fixed at his garage. Some tosspot, as he so eloquently put it, had rear-ended him while he was waiting at the lights. The other driver wasn’t looking, apparently rubbernecking since some shapely cheetah was walking by and, while the horny guy was taking in her legs, his car decided to take a very close look at the back of Gregory’s car at some speed. The insurance was paying but, as Gregory said, it was still a ‘ _major inconvenience of the highest order_ ’. That was something else Lance liked about Noel, even when absolutely steaming, he never swore. Not that he was against it or anything. In fact, he whole heartedly approved of the practice. He just reasoned that, because of the way he spoke, it never sounded right when it came out. After vain attempts at mastering the art in his youth, Gregory had eventually forsworn the practice. Still, he laughed the loudest when Lance loudly whispered fuck when he dropped a tray of glasses on his first day.

But turning up to the garage, Gregory had not been best pleased, stomping up and down demanding someone see to his car this instant. He’d been a bit more uptight then, but he was a banker after all, he could afford to be uptight. But while Gregory had been getting his quills in a knot, Noel had appeared behind him.

“Hey pincushion! Mind shutting your hole so I can do my job?”

Naturally, Gregory had been absolutely incensed. He had spun on heel with a face that Noel had told him later was about as dark as the deepest crevice of the ocean. No-one spoke to him like that, especially not some jumped up mechanic who probably didn’t even make a tenth of what he earned.

But then he saw him.

This slightly older, taller, and much more muscular, porcupine standing before him. Lance had seen the look in Gregory’s eyes just remembering that moment and, although the picture was taken a few years after that, he could tell why he’d been instantly smitten. The guy was gorgeous. He could have been a male model if he wanted to. Gregory said he could have been a few other things as well but only learned that later on.

All the time that Noel was examining the car, checking what he’d have to do and pricing everything up, Gregory had been sneaking long and not exactly wholesome glances at him. His muscular thighs, his deep chestnut eyes, his broad chest. And when he bent down to check something on the car, Gregory felt he was about to pass out then and there with the view of his exquisite derriere.

Managing to compose himself after the show, Gregory nodded through Noel’s summing up of the damage and being handed all the documents and a business card in case he needed their services again, all the while trying not to lose himself in his elegant eyes. Upon being handed the courtesy car keys, Gregory mumbled a near incoherent thank you, before heading straight to the car to allow himself to cool down in seclusion before driving back home.

He didn’t really recall the journey home, but remembered later looking through the bills he’d have to inform the insurance company about when the business card plopped down on his hardwood kitchen table. Picking it up, it was just the standard business card but, flipping it over as you do, Gregory had gone completely crimson.

It was at this point that Gregory had reached into his jacket’s interior pocket and pulled out a frayed and slightly torn business card and handed it almost reverently to Lance. The writing was still as clear as day though.

_Hey Pincushion,_

_Sorry about all that back there. You’ve got to keep up appearances, you know? I’d like to make it up to you though, are you free to get a drink sometime? Call me sometime._

_Noel_

Gregory had been speechless. The note and number written in such neat and delicate script, a far cry from what he thought capable from the man’s man that appeared before him. But it was the little note under his phone number that nearly gave him a nose bleed.

 _P.S:_ _Glad you enjoyed the show._

Chuckling, Lance handing the card back before Gregory slipped it carefully back into his pocket, patting it gently as if to remind him of its presence.

He called him straight away, to hell with the time and the three-day rule. Noel had picked up immediately. Apparently, Noel had been just as flustered as Gregory. Though he definitely hid it better on their meeting, but he was already smitten with the young, cute looking hedgehog. He’d been constantly checking his phone and had nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw it ringing.

Noel was full of surprises. For a rough and ready mechanic with the mouth to rival a sailor in public, he was actually an incredibly shy guy in private. He read a lot, his small flat being strewn with books. Novels, anthologies, textbooks, even dictionaries. It was if it was his own private library. But poetry was Noel’s clear love. Heaney, Byron, Bysshe Shelley, Plath, Larkin, Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Ted Hughes, Betjeman, Angelou, Rossetti, all these names and more crammed into every nook and cranny. He devoured these books and had a wonderful way with words, spinning the most beautiful yarns in quiet, contemplative, melancholy moments and uproarious moment of ecstasy.

Gregory drained his drink before laughing. _‘It was just a shame all that literary talent couldn’t translate into the kitchen! I’ve never known someone to be able to burn so much so quickly!’_

Their lives slotted together so quickly and happened so vividly. It was as it were taken directly out of one of Noel’s many novels. The discrete dates, snuggling up to each other while watching a film, their first kiss, their first time, their many times, their home together, their arguments and make-ups, their first kiss in public, their first nasty reaction, their outing, their admittance, their pride in their admittance, their family dramas, their lost friends, their new friends, their familial bonds mended, their familial bonds never repaired, their crying nights, their gentle moments, their lives together. It was a rollercoaster, complete with ups, downs, corkscrews and a lot of screaming, of both joy and sadness, but Gregory wouldn’t have missed a moment of it. You could see it in his eyes.

After seven months, some of the staff were getting sick of Lance’s cold attitude towards them, as well as the fact he was decent at the job and got a lot of tips, which only galvanised the staff against him. They started questioning his already flimsy excuses for his dodgy looking ID so Lance decided to bail, already having a steady line of gigs lined up and Ash now a competent guitarist, they were set to take the world by storm with him in the leading role.

It was on Lance’s last shift that Gregory decided reveal how Noel died. It was just a routine hospital check when they found out. He had lung cancer. With all the scares of AIDS and scaremongering about gay sex and everything that they had experienced when they were going out, this took them both for a loop. It was scary but just so mundane compared to what could have been. They were confident Noel would be fine. Noel was still as healthy as ever. He was still as fit as he was when they first met all those years ago. His smiled had reassured Gregory. Everything would be alright.

He died eight months later. They did everything the doctors said. Took every course of treatment. Took every pill. Followed every procedure. But the cancer just didn’t go. He was only 44.

He went at 16:43, 18th of April 2001. Gregory’s watch was permanently stopped on that time, date and year. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. The watch was a little big on him, the strap hanging a bit loose on his wrist. It must have been Noel’s. Lance never asked though. It didn’t feel right to.

Gregory looked about ready to bawl, his eyes full to the brim with tears that refused to burst the banks of his eyelids. He simply took Lance’s paw in his own and quietly whimpered. The bar wasn’t that busy that night but still a few faces looked over to this near weeping middle aged hedgehog holding the hand of this young porcupine. Some gave looks of sympathy, others disgust, other gave looks that suggested they just wanted it to be over so Lance could serve them drinks. Lance only noticed this on the periphery of his conscious mind, his focus being on quietly heartbroken hedgehog in front of him.

Composing himself, Gregory wiped his eyes with his free paw and gave Lance a ready, warm smile, trying to mask the hurt clear in his eyes. Looking down at his paw still entangled with Lance’s, Gregory said that Lance had felt like Gregory. He reminded him of him. Not one some physical level or anything like that, but his energy. Gregory said that Lance had a similar whatever attitude to others, but on the inside a deeper, more intimate, more fragile animal on the interior. Lance had fobbed him off with some answer he didn’t really recall, but he could see from Gregory’s smirk that he didn’t buy it for one second.

Before he withdrew his hand from his, Gregory, his gaze down, words spoken in a low tone, as if not really for Lance to hear, recalled the last time he saw Noel. He looked barely like the cocky mammal Gregory remembered. He was drained of colour, his eyes barely containing that mischievous spark, the gauge on his life almost reading empty. But that aura, that energy remained as strong as ever. He remembered holding Noel’s hand like he was holding Lance’s for a while.

They didn’t speak, the sound of their breathing being the only soundtrack necessary. They had had the talk before. For all his love of words, Noel hated the idea of trying to say something profound for last words. He said it was just an excuse to try and show you were still witty and all bravado when, in reality, you’re probably scared shitless and you just want someone to be there for you and not make a fuss about it all. He wanted Gregory there. Just to be there. No sobbing, no empty promises, no goodbyes. Just to be there so it wouldn’t be scary when it happened. It was nice like that. They just held hands and waited. He saw him close his eyes. A smile lingered on his lips.

Lance slowly retracted his paw, apologised for leaving, and went about the rest of his shift. Before clocking out for the final time, he paused, shoved some money in the till before pouring the largest drink of whiskey that straddled the line of legality to serve in one glass. Gregory smiled when he gave it to him, free of charge and, as he left in his normal clothes, turned back as Gregory raised a glass to him, saluting his sweet soundboard with a cute rear. He missed Gregory sometimes. He wondered if he was still there, propping up the bar and sneaking glances at another rodent’s backside. He chuckled at that.

Lance looked back down at the number and phone in his paws, before resolving to dial the number.

After a few rings, a chirpy voice suddenly appeared down the line.

“Hello, this is _The Stable_! How can I help you today?”

“Erm, hey. I’m er, calling about the bar staff job. Is that erm, is it still going?” Lance enquired, a slight hesitance seeping through.

“Oh yeah!” The voice came back. “Yeah, that’s still going! Are you interested in applying?”

“Yeah, of course!” Lancer replied, his confidence coming back.

“Oh fantastic! We’ve been getting slammed recently and we getting staff has been an absolute nightmare so we could really use some new guys! Have you got any experience by the way?”

“Yeah, I’ve worked in a couple of bars. Actually, worked at _The Stable_ before.” Lance admitted.

“Oh, a veteran! Exactly what we need! It’ll make the training quicker at least!” the voice laughed, making Lance chuckle a bit as well.

“When can you start by the way? We’ll get some training on a quieter day but we really need animals in here as soon as really. Is tomorrow good for you?”

Lance sat bolt upright.

"No way it’s this easy," Lance thought. "A job starting tomorrow? FUCKING! A!"

A smirk formed on his face. It may not be a real estate or anything fancy, but he couldn’t wait to rub it in Becky’s face.

“That’s brilliant! I can start today if you need it!”

“Oh, enthusiastic! I like that! But tomorrow’s probably easier. You wouldn’t happen to still have our uniform, would you? Would make everything a whole lot easier.”

“Erm, probably not I’m afraid. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Nah, just would have made things easier. Oh, silly me, I should have asked earlier but what species are you? Just so we can get a uniform ready for tomorrow.”

“I’m a porcupine.”

“Oh, that’s great, we’ve already got a porcupine here so we’ve got some spares in the back.”

“Great, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, nice speaking to you Mr… er… oh, I didn’t even ask your name!”

“It’s Lance Morgan.” Lance gently laughed.

There was a silence at the other end of the phone. The chirpy voice gone. The only thing that made Lance aware that she hadn’t hung up was the barely perceptible sound of breathing down the line. The bravado Lance has regained was beginning to deplete by the nanosecond. Surely, she wouldn’t deny him a job because of –

“I’m sorry Mr Morgan. We don’t have any positions available for you at this time. Thank you considering _The Stable_ for employment. We wish you look in your future endeavours.”

A click sounded and the monotone sound played through the phone, signalling his failure.

Lance breathed out, not realising he’d been holding it since the silence began after revealing his name. Lance placed the phone down on the table before picking up the note with _The Stable’s_ number on it, briefly remembering the good times he’d worked there, before slowly scrunching it up and tossing it towards the bin, not even caring that it hit its mark.

"The fucking bitch!" was Lance’s immediate thought. "Denying me a job because of what? Of some break up with some girl? That’s fucking discrimination right there! I should phone the Police or something. That’ll put the bint in her place."

Reaching back for his phone, he viciously stamped 911 into the phone before letting his thumb hover over the call button. After a few seconds, he breathed heavily, deleting the number.

"Bitch isn’t worth my time. I know I’m ace at that job. They’ve just lost out on me, not me on them. Plus, gives the others chance to get mad tips from Gregory. Probably not though. Bet none of them as good an ass as mine."

Glancing down to the remaining jobs, he quickly flung the other bar job away. It was a dive anyway. He’d played there and it wasn’t fun. Everyone was pissed drunk or high as a kite from opening hours from what he remembered. Hell, not that long ago, he’d been one of them for a brief period of time before Becky frogmarched him out of there, settling for him sulking in their apartment than chugging back Jim Bean whiskey and spluttering on spliffs handed to him. He was never really into that stuff anyway, drinking was more his sport.  

He made quick work of the remaining jobs, not even bothering with the email options, just going for the ones for phone calls. The responses were all the same and came in speedy succession. Phone calls last from five minutes before reducing to seconds, the phone slamming down as soon as Lance mentioned his name.

Utterly frustrated now, Lance grabbed the last sticky note and furrowed his brow. It was a substitute music teacher position. It was at some primary school he’d have to get the tube to get to but the money seemed alright. Plus, no matter what other animals said, he knew music. Up until recently it was his reason for getting out of the bed in the morning. If it meant telling a few brats what part of the guitar was what and strumming a few chords with them every other day while he got paid, then that was fine with him. He taught Ash guitar, even if she knew a little bit before he refined her knowledge and she betrayed him with it. "Should be easy then," Lance reasoned. He punched in the number and let the phone ring.

After a while, Lance was about to give up when a lot of noise emanated from the phone. It sounded like a lot of papers being flung out of the way and muffled swearing.

“Er, goddamn it… er, hello? Sorry, one sec.” More muffled swearing and noises occurred, making Lance wonder whether he’d rang a school or a psychiatric ward.

“Sorry about that” the decidedly male voice eventually said. “Just been a bit hectic here at the moment. Hello, my name is Thomas. Thank you for calling John Alexander Primary School, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m ringing about the substitute teaching position. I believe you’re looking for a music teacher?”

“Yes, we are looking for someone to fill the position since Mrs Grimshaw has gone onto maternity leave. The position is only temporary depending whether Mrs Grimshaw wishes to return or become a full-time mother, but then the position will be up for review before giving you the opportunity to take the position. Is that alright with you?”

Aside from the fact the Thomas had gone from muffled cursing to full-blown professionalism, Lance was reeling from the possibility of working at a school full-time.

"I probably should have read more than just the job title and wages." Lance thought, internally kicking himself.

“Yes, I am aware.” the lies already streaming out of him. “I would like to take this position and, depending on the result of Mrs Grimshaw’s current situation, I would be open to staying on a long-term basis”.

"Did I just say that? Shit I sounded almost professional. When did that happen?"

“Excellent,” Thomas cordially replied. “Would you be available for an interview next week? You’d just need to bring your passport, your teaching qualifications, and your good self, of course.”

Of those three things, Lance could easily provide two of them, although the ‘good self’ part would be debateable amongst some animals he knew. Splitting the troublesome part into two, he easily had the qualification aspect down. He still had his GCSE’s and A-Levels with him, still providing a small sense of satisfaction that he had good marks across the board.  It was the teaching part that threw a spanner in the works. It was just kids, why would he need a teaching qualification to show little squirts how to strum a D chord or plonk along on a keyboard? Surely it was unnecessary for little kids.

“Er, is that wholly necessary? I have an A* in my Music A-Level, as well as my GCSE’s. Would that not be enough?” Lance asked, his voice trying to disguise his slight annoyance.

“Erm, I’m not too familiar with those but I do know you a college degree and a teaching license to be able to teach, substitute and full time. Do you have a college degree and teaching license?”

“….no.” Lance admitted.

“I see. I’m sorry sir but then we cannot consider you for employment. Thank you for considering us.”

The officious tone was starting to grate on Lance now and his anger was beginning to rise.

“Don’t bullshit me. I see how it is.”

“Sir?” Thomas came back, genuine confusion in his voice.

“It’s because of who I am, isn’t it? Oh, Mr Infidelity wants to get a job at my school? Not on my watch! Better say no to him, don’t want to find him three months down the line trying to cop off with one of the members of staff behind the bike shed now, do we?” Lance all but yelled into the receiver. He was seeing red now. He’d taken enough shit from animals for something that animals did every fucking day.

“I am fucking qualified mate! I have been playing guitar and piano since I was a fucking four-year-old! I have been performing since I was seven and have been a career musician since I was eighteen. I have tonnes of practical experience that those kids would never learn from some prissy teacher with a shitty piece of paper. I know how to play music. Fuck that, I know how music feels. I know the unbridled, unmitigated, uncontrollable joy and the demoralising, depressing, fucking crushing anguish that music can give you. Have you ever stood up on stage with animals who couldn’t give the slightest damn who you are because they’re waiting for the next act? Have you ever had to play your heart, your soul, your entire being in front of animals, hoping that it gets to them. Not that they hear it, that it gets to them, gets to the very centre of their being, so they can understand what you are saying? Even if it’s just the tiniest iota of what you’re truly trying to communicate? I know it. I know it all too well. I know it because I’ve lived it. I’ve lived with it for years now. Hell, I’ve lived with it my entire life and I won’t have some jumped up pencil pusher tell me I don’t have the necessary qualifications to teach little kids basic chords that anybody could do, and all because of a FUCKING BREAKUP THAT WAS **NOT MY** **FUCKING FAULT**!”

It was only then that Lance realised that he’d been standing up, had been pacing across the room and had the phone directly in front of his face as he had shouted blue bloody murder. Taking quick breaths, Lance brought the phone back to his ear, expecting that the guy had probably hung up halfway through the rant. Surprisingly enough, he could still his breathing down the line.

“Are you quite done, sir?”

Considering he’d been yelled at with the force of a hurricane, he sounded calm, placid even.

“Yeah… I… I think I’m done.” Lance responded between heavy breaths, having spent his allotted allowance of anger for that morning.

“Alright then. Firstly, I have literally no idea what you are talking about. If you’ve done some misdemeanour regarding your relationships, that for you and the affected parties to sort out. That is none of my business. Secondly, having the required qualifications is necessary to teach young children. Let me ask you, do you know how to form a lesson plan?”

“No.” Lance conceded.

“Do you know how to engage the students’ schemata?”

“No.” Lance replied, while puzzling what the hell a schemata was _._

“Do you know how to monitor a lesson effectively?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to stage a lesson?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to-”

“Okay, okay!” Lance cried. “I don’t know any of that stuff! You’ve made your point, damn it.”

“Your practical experience is exemplary but unless you have these skills as well you would not be able to teach in a school environment. How could you teach without the basic knowledge of how a structured lesson is meant to go? How are you mean to control a class of possibly disinterested students without a working knowledge of how to engage them?”

“Okay, you have a point” Lance agreed. Lance didn’t really want to think about twenty or more kids running amok as he tried to get some semblance of order.

“Finally, from what you’ve just shown me through your unchecked language, you would not be suitable to work as a member of our team. If you accused any of our staff members, or God forbid a student, of a slight with such vulgar language you would be immediately dismissed. To be blunt, your attitude is atrocious and it wouldn’t surprise me if every employer across the city turned you down without even these pearls of wisdom.”

It wasn’t the words that stung, it was the cold, precise the delivery. The unfeeling attitude. It was if this guy was delivering a lecture about some abstract concept to a room of animals rather than delivering pointed barbs directed directly at Lance. That cut deeper than any impassioned attack. Lance could deal with that. He knew how to volley attacks with such fury that it could stop the most het up heckler. But this? No way. Lance was powerless against such disinterested, yet piercing, comments. Lance was all but ready to hang up, already moving to end the call.

“However,”

Lance’s thumb halted. He tentatively raising he phone back up to his ear.

“I can see you are passionate about music. It’s honestly quite refreshing to hear someone speak with so much fervour about it. While I cannot in all good conscience accept you in any capacity in this school, I can suggest what you could do if you are intent on teaching music.”

Lance was stood stock-still. It was only now that he truly realised what he had bared all to some stranger. No-one, not even Ash, had heard those words from him. Had heard his inner reasoning for playing. But this dude, just some dude at some school miles away from him, had heard it all.

“Oh, and what’s that?” Lance replied, trying to keep the mask of outage in his voice.

“Simple, you become a private music teacher.”

“Sorry, what?” Lance managed to muster after another long silence.

“A private music teacher. It’s pretty obvious really when you think about it. You don’t need all the qualifications since you’d do it on your own time and you’ll teach in your own way. Besides, it would animal’s choice to hire you instead of getting it through the school system so they’ve only got themselves to blame if they don’t like your teaching your attitude. It’s all on you to do it though. You’ve got to get students, organise what you’re going to teach, provide equipment, a location to practice if you can’t go to their houses, what to charge them for your services, and so on. It’s a quite a large undertaking. But, with the way you spoke about music, I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it all out. I must go now since my lunch is starting soon, but thank you for your call. I hope you make the right choice.”

Lance mumbled a thank you before ending the call, slipped into his well-established groove in the settee, and began to allow his mind to mull over what had just happened. He’d been offered an interview. He didn’t have the qualifications to do said interview. He’d yelled enough for the neighbours to consider that domestic abuse was happening and the police had probably already been called. The guy had given him the calmest dressing down of his life. The guy then praised his desire to pursue a career in music and then gave him encouragement and a career suggestion. "Was that everything?" Lance thought. "Think that’s everything."

Lance leaned forward, resting his head in his paws. He’d fucked up and no amount of bravado was going to mask that. Becky was going to be so pissed with him, he knew it. He could already see the scowl forming on her face. He knew it was only day one but she would at least expect a CV sent off or maybe a tentative interview date, not having gotten completely shut down from working in bar he’d already worked at and launching a tirade at a prospective employer. He knew lying wouldn’t work, Becky had a great bullshit detector so trying to wriggle out that would require more cunning he had at disposal at the moment.

"Maybe I should try the private teaching."

The thought came unsolicited and jolted Lance’s head out of his paws. Did he just think that?  Was he actually considering this? It had really only been a punt since nothing else had really appealed to him. Was there anything behind that punt? Could he do it? Did he want to do it?

Lance picked up his phone and began researching private teaching, just to see if it was all it was cracked up to be. He spent a couple of hours trawling through various sites, writing down average pay, what was expected of him, qualification requirements, did he need a lot of equipment, did teachers go to students’ houses or a central location? Everything went down on sticky notes and, when those ran out, he started writing on the back of bills and receipts he had lying about, the piles of paper massing around him, making him look awfully similar to the bin with discarded paper scattered around it.

Surveying his work, full of facts and figures, Lance had come to a satisfying conclusion. He could do this. He had the skills, a central location, a timeframe where he could do lessons, a reasonable pricing scheme for kids and adults. The only things he needed to get was a couple of cheap acoustics since using his electric was probably overkill for teaching and getting Becky’s permission to use the flat, which he was fairly confident he could swing.

For the first time in a while, Lance had a plan. He felt confident. He knew he could do it. He’d show everyone that he was the true talent behind Ash’s performance. He’d make everyone forget the stories as his playing ability shone through his students and, with cash lining his pockets, he could start getting gigs again, the bars and clubs begging for him to come back. And then the animals of this city would see him for what he truly was. A rock star. Not like the pretender Ash was but a full blown goddamn rock star. A rock star who could sing, write and play. The whole fucking package! He could see it all so clearly. Lance knew he could do it. Beaming now, Lance couldn’t help but laugh for what felt like the first time in a while. How did he not see it before? Lance fell back into the sofa, his laughter reverberating around the room. Lance the teacher? Had a nice ring to it. If the path to success meant teaching a few untalented nobodies, so bet it. He could do it.

"This is going to be a piece of fucking cake," Lance thought, before leaping off the sofa. _"_ Right, now where can I get business cards?"


	3. Brown Eyed Girl - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is finally getting off his ass and getting his life sorted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect this chapter to go on so long but apparently I had a lot to say! As always, please have a read, leave comments and kudos and, fi you're feeling really adventurous, bookmark and follow this story and see where it goes!

Grabbing his wallet and shoving all the money he could find and knew was his into it, Lance shoved the slightly bulging plastic into his jeans pocket and sped out of the apartment door. Checking his phone for the cheapest places and the bus routes, Lance luckily caught sight of the coach he needed, sprinting towards it and quickly handing the money to the tired looking crocodile bus driver. With that, Lance quickly moved to the nearest free seat, making sure to sit at an angle so save breaking his quills and making the seat look more like Swiss cheese.

"Right, if I’m doing this, I’m doing it properly," Lance thought, beginning to rattle off mental to do list. "First off, I need business cards. New business cards. Don’t think many animals will want my old ones."

The memories of how his old cards had not yet subsided. Every joint Lance had visited after what he was now terming ‘Ashgate’ all had various ways of rejecting him.

After showing the bar’s, club’s or pub’s manager his card, his full name embossed on it with his contact details and intricate L-shaped logo, the managers would look at the card and seemed to have several options at their disposal.

The first one would be to ask him to leave politely, which at the start was fairly common. Then they all appear to have a meeting after a few weeks and decided asking him to leave impolitely was the best course. After a month or two, they must have had group chat open to discuss the Lance problem as they started asking him to leave with some nice bouncers. This appeared to be the norm until after Ashgate where the managers all must have had a little chat on Skype as all their bouncers seemed to be far too keen on throwing him out of the door.

Finally, they must have really had his persistence and the fact that, unlike Becky, he wasn’t seeming to be getting the message so a couple of months ago Lance was asked to leave for the last time in the most courteous manner possible by a pack of patrons, chasing him from the bar throwing bottles and glasses after him, before chasing him down the street hurling the most well intended slew of profanities.

"They should write a book about that," Lance mused. "Five Easy Steps to Get Rid of Unwanted Performers." Glancing out the window, Lance realised how perilously close he had come to daydreaming past his stop. Hitting the stop button and holding onto a metal bar as the vehicle lurched to a halt, Lance flung himself off, yelling back a sharp shout of thanks to the irritated driver, ignoring his angry comments and began following his phone to the first destination.

His phone indicating his arrival, Lance gave the shop a quick once over. It was a pleasant enough looking brick building, with a sweet, understated pink sign with the words _pins ‘n’ things_ looking as if it was transposed directly from the owner’s handwritten message to the sign makers.

Pushing the door aside, a little tinkle coming from the bell, Lance looked round the shop. It didn’t look like a standard stationery store, all straight lines and lifeless, this had more of a feel of a knick-knack place, filled with knitting things, tiny ornaments, plant pots, teddy bears and other plushies, china tea sets that only grandmothers on TV own, as well as the eponymous pins.

A young warthog, ear pierced, jet black hair with a line of blue, and idly fiddling with her phone stood behind the counter, not even realising Lance’s presence which was unsurprising to be fair, the shop being about as populated as the moon.

“Hey,” Lance said, moving over to the counter. “You do business cards, right?”

“Yeah” the warthog said, her yes not leaving the phone as she continued to type away.

“Well can you get me some?” Lance said, a little irritated at being ignored.

“Sure” came the monotone response, her hooves still clacking away at the phone.

Lance’s limited patience was beginning to wear thin.

“Today please!” Lance exclaimed.

The warthog finally looked over at Lance with slight annoyance.

“Alright, don’t get your quills in a knot” she replied, putting her phone in her pocket. “You got a design or something?”

“Yes, here” Lance replied, pulling out a sheet of paper and tossing it onto the counter.

The warthog picked it up and have it a quick scan, her face already judging his work.

“Er, not too complicated. How many d’you need?”

“I guess fifty to start with, like a start pack you know, then I can come back for more.”

“Sure, whatever” the warthog rudely replied. “They won’t be ready for a while, come back in an hour or two.”

“Sounds good. Later.”

“Later yourself.” she replied, she attention straight back to her phone as Lance left the teen in the all too happy surroundings.

Exiting the shop, still a bit miffed by the warthog’s manner and making a metal note to catch her name next time, Lance started gently walking down the street, taking in his surroundings. What with all the daydreaming on the bus he had only just began to realise that he wasn’t actually sure where he was. Not seeing a sign or anything, Lance checked his location on his phone, with it bringing up Apolovia, Las Animales.

"Huh, not heard of it before." Lance had thought he’d gigged quite extensively round the city. He’d been in numerous places, went a load of places with Ash and Becky, seen a load of things. Lance was sure this was just an anomaly. But, searching on the maps of the city, Lance started seeing names and places he hadn’t even heard of, let alone set foot in.

"How do I live here three, nearly four years now and barely leave the city centre? I’ve barely scratched the fucking surface."

Groaning a little at his lack of exploration, Lance decided just to search for his next item on the to do list. A cheap music shop. He knew that most animals would have their own guitars to learn but Lance just knew that some might not be able to afford expensive equipment like that off the bat. Hell, he remembered saving up for his first guitar that wasn’t bought for him. So something simple that most animals could use would be a huge boon for business, so long as he could get something for a reasonable price.

His phone eventually brought up something that reviews all raved about it’s reasonable prices and, quite fortunately, it wasn’t too far away so he didn’t need the bus again. Setting it as his destination, Lance once again obediently followed the electronic female guide.

With time to kill before his cards would be ready, Lance’s legs began to look mat this new area in a bit more depth, looking at everything with new eyes as if he were an intrepid explorer looking discovering a new land.

The buildings weren’t anywhere near as sleek and modern as the ones he was used to in the city centre, the architecture of the area seeming to be at least half a century old. Every structure he passed seemed to show the tell-tale signs of age. The concave roof tiles trying to hide its bald spots with moss coverings, brickwork wrinkled and blemished, windows faded and unfocused. The pavement slabs were wonkily put together and the road with untreated potholes. It was if the very street itself had been through a traumatic accident and the surgery, while successful, could never restore it to its previous physical prime.

Yet, despite its age and ailments, the street breathed life through every pore. Each building, though showing its signs of wear and tear, were all painted in glorious technicolour, celebrating its age while embracing the new, each window filled high with weird and wonderful stock that differed spectacularly from one pane to the next. The road, despite its handicap, was packed with cars, buses, and lorries, all adding to the incoherently soundtrack, with the jammed packed with animals of all species and persuasions, making their way here, there and everywhere. The street, no, the entire district was buzzing with life.

Lance, taking this all in, marvelled at the stark contrast to the clinical city centre. Free of animals, the city centre was as sterile and silent as mortuary, without any semblance of the personality that it had been in the daylight hours of its life. Apolovia though, even one first glance, breathed life through every nook and cranny, roaring with sound, refusing to be silent, exuding energy from every particle of its being.

"That’s it." Lance thought, his pace barely that of a snail’s. The place’s energy. The constant charge of something. That invisible electric feeling that meant that something, anything, was on the precipice of happening. It could be something momentous or minor, life changing or life ending, but no matter what it was, it was there, just in touching distance, the faint spark within touching distance, waiting for someone to grasp it and feel the surge of change.

And, for the briefest of moments, Lance felt the static possibilities against his paw tips.

Shaking himself from his thoughtful reverie, Lance returned his attention to his phone, resuming his march to the music shop.

After leaving the main road, swerving this way and that through the grid like streets, the artificial navigator finally announced that they had arrived. Looking up at the shop in front of him, Lance wasn’t particularly impressed. From the outside at least, the bottom layer of what looked like an unused apartment building looked like a rundown nickel and dime sort of place, a dull and damaged neon sign that read _Marv’s Music_ hanging above the door. Posters of bands and albums were plastered all around the windows to such an extent that it looked more like a notice board than something to advertise what the shop was actually selling.

Looking away from the shop and taking in the street he was on, Lance felt that the shop could not be more out of place if it tried. Down the road was a chic café that, despite the beginnings of autumn chills that September brought, had a smattering of students sprawled around outside street side seating areas.

Giving them a quick once over, Lance could tell their type immediately. Reclining in the hardback chairs, sipping the remains of their espressos, probably conversing on some notion about the decadence and impotence of capitalism, all the while keeping their eyes glued to their Chinese made phones while sporting their Bangladeshi sweat shop shoes. Yep, those were first year students, all entitled and ill-informed. They’d learn things weren’t so black and white soon.

Directly across the street there was a book shop that, by the look of it, was only remaining upright through sheer force of will, the rest of the building above it trying to squash it from existence. The windows were straining from the books piled up high against it, a thin line at the top letting in its ration of natural light, and a musty smell wafting out of its open front door that could be invaded Lance’s nostrils despite standing on the other side of the street.

The owner, a studious badger, was clearly visible in the doorframe, sitting behind the counter, paying no mind to the porcupine looking at him from across the way nor the sole bibliophile in his shop, so thoroughly enraptured in his own tome, or at least as enraptured as you could be behind drooping eyelids.

Looking back over the way he came, Lance spied a vintage clothes shop he somehow neglected to notice on his way down. _Glass House,_ the name just legible at Lance’s angle, appeared to be a standard sort of store, full of fantastic wares at exorbitant prices.

"I should know," Lance mused. "The punk look doesn’t come cheap, especially for porcupines."

The owner, a black-backed jackal dressed in torn jeans and untucked lumberjack style cheque shirt, lent against the door frame whilst taking a drag on her cigarette. The few animals that walked past her shop instead of deigning to enter, all silently judging her carcinogenic habit, were met with eyes that screamed complete and utter indifference, as if she didn’t care that they could possible patronise her shop, allowing them to walk away with their internal condemnations and bland apparel.

Eventually returning his gaze to the store in question, Lance gave out a sigh and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, a single word popped into Lance’s mind. Instruments. The place was festooned with instruments. Crawling with instruments. Instruments up the bloody wall.

Violins and mandolins, saxophones and banjos, xylophones and oboes, acoustics and drum sticks, and electrics that verged upon being completely eccentric. Everything was shoved into corners, attached to the walls, and in some cases hung from the ceiling with cords. If you told Lance that someone had decided to store all the world’s instruments into this pokey little shop, in that moment Lance would have believed them wholeheartedly. Lance was surprised there was actual floor space, let alone room to move without him sucking in his gut.

Negotiating his way through the crowded room, Lance eventually made his way to a small opening at the back, revealing a till with a large red door behind it, and to the right of it large set of stairs for the next layer of the store.

Bounding up the stairs, Lance took a quick look at the upper floor. If the bottom floor was where the tools of musical creation was kept, then upstairs was where inspiration was sought. In the era of digital downloads, this place seemed to be out of time. CDs were stored by the rack, cassettes bundled in baskets, vinyl resting in piles, some having been leafed through as many times as a librarian’s secret erotic paperback delight.

Venturing up the stairs and taking in the many musical delights, Lance aimlessly flicked through everything on display. It had everything. You name it and it was there. Ray Charles. Ed Sheeran. Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. Derek & the Dominos. Nirvana. The Animals. Santana. The Beastie Boys. The Beatles, together and solo. N.W.A. Tracy Chapman. Amy Winehouse. Queen. The Afghan Wings. Marvin Gaye. Spoon. Can. Joy Division. David Bowie. The list went on and on and on.

Wandering to the back of the room Lance noticed a small room with a heavy black door, the paint slightly chipped away revealing its metal flesh. Shrugging his shoulders and pushing the door open, Lance jaw nearly dropped off. It was a soundproof booth. He’d seen them before but usually they were like telephone booths so you could stand and listen to terrible quality music in privacy with gunged up headphones. This however, hell it looked like a professional recording booth. It was big enough to fit a good group of animals in to all just rock out to whatever music they wanted to hear, with a huge touch screen of music embedded into the wall listing anything and everything.

Exiting the room and taking in the entire spectacle before him, Lance could only think one thing in self-chastisement.

"How the hell have I never been in here before?"

Eventually coming down a little from the musical high he was on, Lance made his way back downstairs. While his eye roved over everything around him, picturing himself playing anything and everything, Lance tried to keep his focus on guitars. Cheap guitars. Browsing their selection, Lance proceed to marvel a certain guitar, pick it up, feel the smooth wood in his fur, the metallic strings against his paws and worn-down claws, then catch a glimpse of the price before sullenly putting it back and repeating the process with the next one along. By the sixth guitar, Lance was beginning to believe that the reviews were something the owner put up himself to get animals through the door.

"If this was the cheapest place to get a decent guitar then I might be stuffed." Lance reflected.

“Lookin’ for sumit?”

Jumping at the voice, Lance turned round quickly to face the source but quickly found nothing.

“Oi, down here!” the voice sounded, slightly exasperated now.

Looking down, Lance saw what appeared to be a middle-aged pine marten, his unblinking eyes staring up at him, his face set with the tired expression as if he had been unceremoniously woken up. His clothes reflected it, a shabby looking white t-shirt with a couple of splodges of what looked like jam and washed jeans that only held what appeared to be a vague memory of the blue they used to be.

"Is this the owner?" Lance questioned internally.

“So, you gonna speak or have I gotta get someone that speaks dumb-dumb?” the tiny mammal spat, his eyes looking with him a dollop of condescension.

"Well that answers that question then."

“Er, yeah” Lance replied, finally finding his voice. “I’m starting to teach guitar and I need something in case the students don’t have their own gear.”

The pine marten gave him the once over, foot to head, as if examining whether this animal was worth the time of day or whether he should go back to whatever exciting activity he’d been up to. Under the mammals unflinching scrutiny Lance, for all his bravado, couldn’t help but feel a little off centre, even if the guy barely came up to his chest.

After looking as though he was mulling something over in his head, the gecko eventually shook his head, blowing out air as if he were accepting a daunting challenge or quest.

“Alright. What sort of size you lookin’ at?” came the unenthused reply.

“Oh erm…” Lance hesitated.

The gecko sighed loudly. “Size of guitar numbskull!”

“Hey! Back off short stack!” Lance growled, getting a bit pissed off with the guy’s attitude.

“Make me Stripes!”

"Stripes?" Lance thought? "Where’d he get Stri…" He quickly looked over his striped t-shirt, striped long shirt underneath and the brown and white stripes in his quills. _How has not noticed that before?_

Taking Lance pondering for submission, the pine marten appeared to calm down.

“Alright Stripes, so I’m guessin’ you’re pretty new to this shtick so, and tell me if I’m right, you need somethin’ in case an animal doesn’t have a guitar of their own so you can get them into lessons and scoop the cash off them. Am I right?”

Lance, surprised by the guy’s ability to succinctly understand his reason for visiting, merely.

“Thought so. Alright, now we’re getting’ somewhere. I’m guessing acoustic and, by the look at you Stripes,” the Pine Marten said, giving him an exaggerated look “I’m guessing something cheap.” Lance fought to keep the scowl off his face as the pine marten moved over to the guitars."

"Don’t piss him off." Jack mentally instructed himself. "This place is cool. You may want to come back. Just play nice, get the guitar, get out."

“So, if you’re wantin’ something basic and for most animals, my guess would be about your size. You don’t get a lot of elephants rockin’ out do you? Or mice for that matter. It’s why I get to up the prices for overly large or my size guitars. Make a killin’ out of it. Your size though? Not so much. So a medium good enough for now Stripes?”

“Stop calling me Stripes and just get me a damn guitar!” Lance retorted petulantly. 

“Hey, you’re the boss Stripes” he shrugged, before suddenly whipping out a ladder concealed in between the rows of guitars and swiftly ascending before climbing all over the hung guitars, hopping from one to another with agility a frog would envy.

"Climbers, what d’you expect?" Lance thought, watching the pine marten expertly navigate the instruments before returning to stare at the shop floor.

"Wonder what else is hidden in this place?" Lance pondered, the sheer scale of the operation within such a tiny space still boggling his mind.

"Attitude aside, this Marv guy knows his stuff. _"_

“Hey, found you one! Looks better than you do!” the aforementioned employee called out. “Get ready to catch!”

“Catch? Catch wha-”

Before Lance had time to process anything else, Lance looked up to see a guitar sailing down towards him at a rate of knots. Half swearing, Lance reached up to the guitar on reflex, flexing backwards paws outstretched, only managing to stop the instrument’s decent mere inches away from his face. and barely managed to catch it before the thing clattered with his face.

“Pff, that clo-oooh, ow!” Lance yelped, losing his balance and falling to the floor, the guitar slipping from his grasp and hitting his head with a musical thud.

“Hey, don’t go breakin’ my stock Stripes! Now get up off your ass, you’re clutterin’ up the place.” the pine marten scolded, somehow now standing over Lance’s prone form, barely holding the laugh in his gut.

“Come on, get up ya bum.” He said, offering a paw.

“I’m fine.” Lance said, rejecting the offer, the pine marten retracting the offer with a shrug.

“Warn me next time you’re gonna do some crazy shit like that! Nearly smashed my head in.”

“Hey, it would have been an improvement! Now come on, time’s money, what d’ya think?” he said, gesturing to his choice.

Picking up the downed guitar, Lance gave it the once over.

It had certainly seen better days. It looked like fourth if not fifth hand. The wooden body had a few scuff here and there, the headstock having a few notable scratches and looking like it had been attacked with a knife at one point on the right hand side, with a section of it missing revealing its dry interior. The once shiny frets were dull, but at least all remaining. The strings at least looked now, without the excessive wires hanging off the top like you see some guitars.

All in all, it seemed fairly standard. Nothing too fancy, a bit busted but he wasn’t looking for perfection, just something playable. Lance moved his paw over the strings. Sliding it up the fret, thy let out a soft metallic whine, making his quills shiver

"That’s the good stuff." Lance thought, his eyes closed in bliss.

“Hey! You buyin’ it or askin’ it out? I ain’t got all day ya know?” the pine marten grumpily interrupted.

“Mind if I give it a go?” Lance asked, choosing to ignore his comment, though the message didn’t seem to reach his face which was plastered with a disgruntled look.

“Sure, whatever. Just don’t break a string or anythin’. Wait, actually do. Need to get rid of some out back. Been cloggin’ up the place since God knows when.”

Ignoring his belly-aching, Lance sat on the ladder step since a chair apparently being the one thing the shop didn’t have stuffed into it.

Getting comfortable, Lance closed his eyes, trying to think of what to play, going through his own material in his head, thinking what would sound good acoustically.

It wasn’t a long search, his self-penned sure-fire hits not being too numerous to begin with and, no matter how much Lance tried to convince himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that an amp was needed to make it sound good.

"Whatever, I’ll do something else." Lance conceded, his paws already manoeuvring into the opening chords.

Starting to play, Lance felt a sensation come over him that he had not felt in a while, a comfortable sensation, as if slipping back into a well-worn coat. His paws and arms moving with practiced skill fluidly, his actions precise yet with a natural calm flow. He hummed gently, near inaudibly, the words never escaping his lips, his eyes closed, not even the song he was playing even reaching his ears. He just let it happen, let it all flow out of him in silence, as the guitar spoke his silent soliloquy.

With the last note played, Lance opened his eyes, his paws still holding down the last chord. Smiling gently to himself, Lance suddenly realised he hadn’t actually heard himself play, which is kind of a no-no when you want to hear how a guitar sounds.

Looking up, he saw the pine marten staring back at him with an unusual expression. Gone was the slightly patronising look, his face now had an inquisitive look, his head slightly tiled, his previously tightly folded arms now loosened. He seemed to be meditating on something, his eyes looking at him, rather beyond him.

“So erm,” Lance began, breaking the silence. “Seems alright, least you’re not giving me something unplayable.”

The pine marten remained silent, still looking at Lance as if he was some strange curiosity.

“Yeah,” he eventually replied, his tone lower and eyes narrowing “seems like it.”

A moment silence befell the two. "What’s happening here? One minute he’s all in your face the next he could be a living statue. What gives?"

“Well!” the pine marten exclaimed, returning to his past exuberance “we got a sale then or what Stripes? I’ve got stuff to do ya know?”

“Sure, seems alright. And don’t call me Stripes.”

“Sure thing… playboy” the pine marten said, a smirk tugging at his lips, his fangs revealing a little.

Lance paused. “What did you just say?” the anger rising in his voice, his paw clenching.

“What? You think I don’t know who you are _Mr Lance_ , heartbreaker and this month’s internet’s most infamous coming up to three months running? I may be getting on but I’m not a total geezer yet. I still know how to do the Facetube’s an everything.” He mocked, the grin becoming a full-on smirk with hints of laughter in behind his words.

The anger was rising behind Lance’s eyes, his grip on the guitar fret tightening, his quills quivering with rage. Yet the mustelid kept going.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of animals coming in here after that article came out. So many animals were pissed! I even had this one guy come in, alligator I think, saying if he ever saw you he’d be hard pressed to not rip you apart there and then with his teeth. And he was one of the milder ones!”

He let out a huge belly laugh, not even registering the darkness welling in Lance’s eyes, his entire being shaking but his mind still restraining himself. He’d heard it all before and worse.

“God, I’d not seen anger like that in years! And here you are, the notorious Lance! God, if I went out there and yelled you were here, I don’t think I could ever get this shop clean! Doubt the Police would bother though, not with your scrawny ass. Probably convince themselves it was self-defence or something. Or maybe suicide. Probably wouldn’t even send your dear old mother a message saying her cheating little boy had copped it!”

With that Lance lunged forward, grabbing the pine marten by his collar and hoicked him up, bringing him level with his eyes.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Lance seethed.

“Touched a nerve then?" He replied, his voice without a trace of fear.

“More than touched you fucking oversized rodent.” Lance spat, the bile rising in his throat.

“I’ve had enough of your shit. Now, you take back what you just said or you and this guitar and gonna have a bit of disagreement.” The guitar was now raised above the mustelid’s head, Lance eye’s not leaving the pine marten’s almost bored eyes.

“You think a threat’s gonna work here? I’ve handled worse than you Stripes. You’re not cracking the top ten here mate. Just put the guitar down, buy it and leave. We can pretend this never happened.”

Lance anger began to slowly diminish, realisation creeping into his eyes, becoming acutely conscious of precisely what he was doing.

“Okay, maybe I overstepped the mark a bit but, considerin’ your reputation right now, d’you wanna add beating up a mammal half your size and twice your age to that? I mean, come on. You’re dumb, but not that dumb.”

Lance relaxed, the guitar slowly falling to his side and gently putting the mammals down, shame creeping into his mind and trickling down his face.

“Sorry.” Lance mumbled, his voice thick with remorse.

“S’alright,” He replied, fixing his crumpled shirt. “We both went a bit too far there.”

“No shit Sherlock.” Lance replied.

“Yeah, just get so into ribbing animals I sometimes I forget to get to know their limits first. Anyway, we’ll draw a line under it. Not mention it again, ‘kay?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Lance replied, a faint smile appearing for the amnesty.

“How ‘bout we start over? You know, pretend like you’ve just walked in and we’ll both act all professional and shit.”

Lance let out a little chuckle and extended a paw. “Sure. I’m Lance, guitar teacher to be, rock star in the making and social pariah. Nice to meet you.”

Giving a genuine smile, the mammal took his paw and shook it firmly.

“Nice to meet you Lance. Marv Parten. Music store owner, mouthy git and fashion trendsetter.”

Marv and Lance both burst out into hearty laughter, the tensions evaporating as the cries of joy reverberated off the instruments.

Leaving the shop, Marv called out to the now forty dollars lighter Lance.

“Great doing business with ya Lance! Come again, maybe we can make this a weekly thing?”

“Sure thing Marv, you daft bugger.” Lance jovially replied, earning a laugh from him before the door clanged shut.

Readjusting the case strapped to his back, hoping it didn’t damage his quills to badly, Lance began to walk back to the stationary store, his mood brightened a little after the initially awkward exchange.

"Now just to get those cards and you can head on home and slob out like you intended with the day." Lance thought, hitching the case again as he re-entered the busy main road of Apolovia.

 

Smiling at the thought, Lance entered _pins ‘n’ things_ with renewed vigour. The warthog smiled as he entered and handed him his finished business cards in a little plastic case. Lance even managed a half-genuine smile and thanked the warthog for her help and handed another load of cash.

After briefly dealing with the unhelpful warthog, Lance was now leaning his shoulder against the wall outside _pins ‘n’ things_ looking at his new business cards. They looked pretty damn professional if he did say so himself. No loud emblems or outrageous designs, just plain white card with a serious looking type face that read:

**Mr Morgan’s Guitar Lessons**

**Flexible Work Schedule**

**Teaches Beginners to Advanced**

**All ages, sizes and species welcome**

**Please message for** **inquiries**

And with that Lance had left his email and address below, but decided at the last minute to forgo giving out his phone number.

"Who can’t send emails on their phones?" Lance reasoned, as well as the fact he didn’t want animals spamming his phone and didn’t feel like dealing with a personal and business phone, especially if the amount of animals wanting to skin him alive were true from what Marv had said. It was why it was Mr Morgan as well. No first names. Just business. No drama.

His lips curling in approval at his shrewdness, Lance pushed off the building and span round to head to the bus stop.

"Sofa slouching here I – oof!"

As he whriled round, Lance clattered into a furry blur, spinning the fuzzy obstacle to the ground while Lance let out a surprised grunt and dropped the card to the ground before the exploded out of their case and fluttered away like dandelion seeds all around him.

The irrational anger that comes free with such unfortunate incidents filled Lance’s core, causing him to spin round ready for an argument, to hell with his apparent ill reputation.

“Hey! Watch where the hell you’re go…”

Looking at the prone form on the ground, Lance’s anger came to an abrupt halt.

Collapsed on the ground was a young raccoon who, even from a rear view, looked as if she had seen better days. She was wearing a long dark green sweater with the common criss-cross pattern, the arms trailing over her paws and looking threadbare and frayed at the edges. Her jeans looked as though they had last been in the washing machine four years ago, if the stains, rips, the fact they finished in the middle of her shin and came with an unnecessarily tight look was anything to go by.

Her scuffed shoes weren’t any better. The right one looked as it was barely clinging to life and the left one looked as if it was being held together with a rubber band. Her striped tail looked near entirely black, with the amount of grime and soot clinging to the fur. The rest of her fur looked like it hadn’t been groomed or washed that day, or that week. It stuck out in odd places and had a slightly greasy look, as if she had just rubbed herself in fast food.

Seeing this spectacle Lance’s concerns about his cards withered and died as, after the initial shock, Lance dropped down to help her up. Taking her sleeved paw, he gently helped her up, the raccoon giving little winces as she did. Setting her up on her unsteady feet, the girl kept her head down, as if afraid to meet Lance’s gaze.

“Hey, are you alright?” Lance asked, gently touching her shoulder.

Instinctively recoiling from the touch, the raccoon’s face shot up and her eyes met his so quickly and piercingly that Lance couldn’t help but be a little shocked.

Her deep, wavering brown eyes looked at him with confusion and a little notion of fear clinging around the irises. Her face went taut and her ears immediately pinned themselves back to her skull. She was like a deer in highlights. Completely frozen, waiting for some inevitable fate to befall her.

“Hey, I’m not going hurt or anything, okay? I just want to know you’re alright.” Lance said softly, holding his paws up placatively.

The raccoon, gaining some semblance of awareness, the raccoon nervously looked around, taking in the scene.

“Hey, you o-”

Before Lance could even finish his sentence, the raccoon turned tail and started sprinting away as if fleeing a crime scene, bumping into animals as she went, causing jeers of annoyance as she made her escape.

“Hey, wait!” Lance called out, but too late as the surprisingly speedy procyonid zipped around a corner and out of sight, leaving Lance with his arm outstretched in a moment of genuine concern.

Lowering his arm, Lance began collecting his cards that remained strewn on the floor. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any wind blowing around and the animals moved round the disturbed area, allowing Lance managed to scavenge most, if not all, of the cards off the concrete.

Popping the last few up into the plastic case after a couple of minutes, Lance noticed something in his periphery. A small brown case. Curious, Lance went over, picking up the light object. It was a wallet; the small pattern-less container was scuffed, with the brand’s name worn off from years of continuous use.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lance opened up the wallet. No cash, but the wallet was packed full of receipts. Snarlbucks, Dragon’s Coffee Wagon, Queen Bee Tea. "They sure like caffeine." Lance chuckled to himself.

Slipping to the card holders, it was completely barren. No credit cards, debit cards, loyalty cards, membership cards, nothing.

"Guess I might as well bin it," Lance thought. "It’s only got rubbish in it so it might as well join the rest."

Looking over to a nearby bin, Lance went to lob the wallet in, already getting the basketball commentary in his head, before a small piece of plastic fell out of one of the tears in the wallet, spinning to the ground.

Picking up the white plastic, Lance turned it over to inspect it. It was a provisional driver’s licence with the unemotional face of the raccoon he had just bumped into. She looked better in the photo. Her fur didn’t look greasy, her eyes unemotional but unafraid, her ears slightly perked up, there was even a faint hint of a smile. She looked nice. Pretty, even.

"Much better than she was a few minutes ago." Lance mused.

Looking over the licence, Lance saw her details. There wasn’t much to see, a lot of it having scratch marks that obscured most writing. Only one piece remained barely legible and, thank fully, it was the address: 754 Senna Row, Paneris, Las Animales.

Quickly putting the address into maps, the route popped into view. It wasn’t too far, about a ten-minute walk or so. Lance shrugged the guitar case to a more comfortable position, his quills beginning to hate the case, before making his way towards the raccoon’s home

To say that the quality of housing declined the closer he got to Senna Row was a bit of an understatement. More like it took a nosedive into the fiery pits of Hades.

From the delightful stone and brick buildings of Apolovia, by the time he reached Paneris the stone structures had been replaced with shabby wooden shacks. They were worn and dilapidated, with a pervading smell of rot and damp circulating the entire area that no amount of conscious effort could blot out.

Instead of the hustle and bustle where animals were everywhere and celebratory noise was a constant, unsettling silence hung heavy through this district, only punctuated by the occasional shout or scream in the distance. A few teenage mammals hung around chain link fences, smoking a shared cigarette and giving Lance looks as if they were marking their next hit. Lance avoided their gaze, but kept his eyes steady, puffing his chest out slightly and walking with slight exaggerated confidence. He knew these sorts of places and how to carry himself.

Looking weak and lost was just asking to be called out and possibly beaten up and mugged. Lance had had his fair share of it when he first came to Las Animales. He had learned how to exude confidence and machismo prior to his arrival, but being in areas like this help drive the point home of it being a 24/7 kind of thing, something that helped to make animals think twice about approaching him on the streets, but also somehow managed to help him persuade managers to give him gigs. Well, it used to help.

Sweeping his memories away, Lance’s phone finally buzzed that he had reached his destination. Looking up at the house, Lance could see why the raccoon looked the way she did. The place was a dump even by the area’s standards.

The roof looked like it was about the cave in at any second, the windows were either smashed or boarded up, the wooden boards looked like it was on the verge of disintegrating. God knows how animals managed to walk on the porch. There were a pile of papers and letters clumped together by the door, as if the postman had given up trying to push them through the letterbox. Weeds were even growing up through the porch and climbing up the building, as they had already taken over the front garden and path.

"They’re probably the only thing keeping the house standing."

Lance started to wonder whether it was worth going up to the house. There didn’t seem to be anyone home, but then again, he doubted that the house had any electricity, or they couldn’t afford to pay their bills without a ton of benefits. Suddenly Lance felt lucky that Becky was even giving him a chance to stay in her comparatively luxurious apartment.

"I could be in somewhere like this again so easily," Lance thought. "No Lance, it’s not going to happen. You’re talented and everyone is going to see it. You’ll be living in the lap of luxury and this’ll all be just a distant memory."

Emboldened, Lance walked up the porch and knocked on the door.

No response.

"Okay, try again."

Still nothing.

Lance knocked a bit louder.

The house or its occupants weren’t seeming to be getting the message.

"One more try and I go."

With Lance’ paw raised, the door cracked open, with a dark brown eye peering out at him, a slice of a face looking out at him.

“Oh erm, hi,” Lance started, nervously waving his paw. “Sorry for erm, disturbing you and all that but erm, you er, you dropped this.”

Lance pulled the wallet out of his pocket, holding it up to the peeping eye. The eye, widening slightly, before darting between the wallet and its temporary keeper, slowly shut the door. Hearing a rustle and clunks of a chains, bolts and locks, the raccoon finally came out, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar behind her.

She had cleaned up a little, her fur looking a bit more groomed with most of the sticking out parts having been addressed, but her fur still retained that slightly oily look and her clothes were unchanged.

Standing there, her head kept down, she plucked at her green sleeves in embarrassment, her paws still hidden within them. She stood in complete deference to Lance, her body language fragile but compliant, as if she were clay for his to mould. It slightly unnerved Lance. He was here to return a lost item and she was looking as if he was about to march her down to police station.

“Sorry, I had to go through to find out it was yours.” Lance began, incredibly uncomfortable with her demeanour, holding the wallet out for her.

Her had remaining hung, her paw finally raised up and emerged from its green cocoon. She gently grasped it and, in controlled movements, brought into both her paws, her eyes impassively looking it over.

“I think er, everything there. I checked all around to see if anything fell out but I think it’s all there.” _As little as that is,_ Lance noted.

Autumn remained silent, but nodded slightly, as if taking Lance’s word for it. A few awkward seconds of silence passed with Lance uncertain how to leave.

"Should I wait for her to say something? She doesn’t look while she’s about to say anything. Maybe I should just go. But won’t that seem rude? Wait, why am I thinking all this over? I did the good deed. Well done Lance. Now just get out of here."

“Erm, look so er, I just wanted to bring this back to you and er, make sure you were, you know, alright and everything. You took quite a tumble back there and I thought you’d hurt yourself. I may not be, you know, everyone’s favourite guy right now but I’m er, you know, I’m glad that you’re er, well…” Lance rambled, waving his paws as if to finish his eloquent speech.

She was looking up at him now, her eyes a mixture of confusion and something Lance couldn’t quite put his paw on. Resentment for his pity? Trepidation for this weird bumbling mammal? Curiosity for… the same reason?  Lance wasn’t sure but by the look of her, he had probably outstayed his welcome.

“So er, since I can see you’re erm, fine and all that I’ll just get going. Don’t want to, you know, keep you longer than you need. So er, I’ll be seeing you then.” Lance mumbled, starting to back away his mind kicking himself for his awkwardness.

“You like music?”

The question had come out so quietly that had Lance turned his head ever so slightly further away he may never have heard it.

Her voice was wispy and fragile, as if it could be shattered forever if it dared go up a single octave more. It was weak and shaky, as if she was completely unpractised at the art of merely speaking.

Looking back, she saw that the racoon’s arm was outstretched, pointing at the guitar case, previously obscured by his quills.

“Oh erm, yeah. I like music.” Lance said. “D’you erm, d’you like music?”

The racoon nodded, her face still not looking up at him.  

“Oh erm, what d’you like?” Lance asked, unsure whether he’d get an answer and as to the point of asking anyway.

The raccoon seemed to take a moment to think about it, before shrugging noncommittally.

“Come on” Lance began, growing a little more confident. “You must like something. R&B? Jazz? Blues? Soul? Punk? Pop? Rock?”

Again, the raccoon seemed to process the question, shifting her feet a little as she thought about it.

“I… I like… most things.”

"Better than nothing at all I guess." Lance reasoned.

Silence fell between them once again, the raccoon clearly looking a bit awkward about having spoken so much with Lance still looking for an out of this stilted conversation.

“Look erm, I’m glad you’re alright and all and erm, hold on.”

Lance rummaged in his pockets before pulling out the card container, quickly opening it up and held it out to the girl. She looked at it quizzically, before taking it in her free paw, reading over the text.

“I teach guitar. Just started actually so, you know, if you wanna place some of those ‘most thing’ then er, drop me a line sometime, ‘kay?” Lance said, once again moving away down the porch steps.

“I don’t have email.” the racoon called out, her voice straining a little.

“Sorry what?” Lance replied, turning back, his escape thwarted once more.

“I don’t have email.” she repeats, a little quieter and more comfortable.

“Oh.” That’s all Lance could think to say.

“Like at all or?”

She shook her head.

“Not even on your phone?”

The raccoon let out a soft snort, shaking her head before fishing around in her tattered jeans pocket. Sliding it out, she revealed a dark blue brick phone with a tiny scratched screen and massive buttons. It looked as if it had been handed down, thrown about, dropped down the loo, and hit several times with a blunt object before it managed to get into her paws.

"Jesus, I didn’t think animals still had those," Lance thought. "Well, there goes my no phone number idea. Shit, I’ll have to fork out for new cards!"

“Oh, right. Erm, well I guess I could give you my number.”

Lance pulled out his phone and read out the number as the raccoon slowly put it into her phone, holding the phone’s dull screen to Lance to make sure she had it right.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just give me a ring if you want to have a go or whatever.”

The raccoon nodded, a bit more certain in her movements.

“How much is it?” came her voice again, with a slightly serious tone.

“Oh erm…” Lance began, but then he looked at the raccoon. He looked at her face. Her clothes. Her house behind her. Truth be told, he was thinking about 30 dollars a session, that way he could rack up some good cash if he got a few students. But looking at her, how empty her wallet was, how run down her house was, Lance did something that a few months ago he would never conceive of doing.

“Er, the first session’s free then it’ll be like 10 dollars or something.” Lance tilted his head down, a little embarrassed at giving what he felt was a handout to her. “Does… does that sound alright?”

Looking up briefly, Lance saw a sudden flicker of light appeared in her eyes. It was brief, but it was there. A moment that took her out of her continuously sad complexion. Lance grinned a little. "Wait, why am I happy? I just knocked down the price stupidly! What the hell am I gonna–"

“That sounds good.”

Raising his head up again, Lance thought he spied a smile. It was faint, barely registering at all, but it was there. A tiny smile and her face brightening up a bit. She looked like a different mammal for a moment, albeit a fleeting one.

“Cool” Lance mumbled, attempting to shake himself of his stray thoughts and making his way to the porch steps once more. “Well, I’ll see you later then.”

“I wasn’t trying anything.”

Lance paused. The tone coming from the raccoon was harder this time, as if trying to defend herself. Even her body language become stiffer, m ore determined.

“What d’you mean?” Lance asked, slightly puzzled.

“I wasn’t trying anything before.”

"What’s she on about?" Lance couldn’t help thinking, the confusion spreading to his voice.

“Try what?”

The second denial seemed to flummox the raccoon. She looked at him now, her deep brown eyes staring at him as if he were some exotic, almost alien, curio.

"What on earth is she going on about? Trying something? The hell could she try to do? There’s nothing of her." Lance thought, befuddled.

“I er, you know,” she started, uncertainty at her own words becoming evident. “When I bumped into you. Back there. I wasn’t, you know, trying anything… sketchy.” she trailed off, seeming to need a minute after speaking so much.

“Erm, yeah sure,” Lance agreed, still not understanding. “Whatever, but seriously, there’s nothing to apologise for.” Lance said with a shrug of his shoulders.

The raccoon smiled for a brief second, before diving her paw into her jeans pocket and prising some green notes out of it, proffering it to the porcupine.

“Erm, what’s this?” Lance asked, the situation getting more confusing by the second.

Stepping forward, she shoved something into his paw. Opening it up, it revealed some crumpled notes. There wasn’t a lot there, maybe eight dollars and a barely twenty cents change.

“For the wallet. Sorry it’s not much.” She mumbled, before walking away, leaving Lance a little shocked.

Without even thinking, Lance grabbed the raccoon’s green sleeve halting her in her place, a look of fear coming into her eyes.

“I don’t know who or what you think I am but I am not taking this.” Lance stated flatly.

Thinking on it, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do as the raccoon was staring at his paw, still gripping the faded green fivers of her jumper. Lance quickly realised what this was starting to look like and quickly released her.

“Sorry, it’s just I can’t take this.”

“You have to.” She responded matter of factly.

“For what? Returning your wallet? I’m not taking it.” Lance scoffed.

Her eyes narrowed, a grim look coming into the pupils.

“I have to pay you back.” She said in a measured tone, her eyes finally meeting his. They were cold, demanding, yet somehow also pleading with him to let her pay him back.

Looking back down at his paw, the notes still scrunched up Lance couldn’t help but feel torn. He did need the money, even with Becky as a lifeline she wasn’t going to keep giving him handouts whenever he needed it. That was the whole point of getting a job. But, this was her money. Probably all the money she had. She needed it more. And yet here she was, handing it all over to pay some self-created debt? He couldn’t just give her the money back. It’d be insulting. She was trying to do right and for him to spurn her money was essentially saying, I don’t need _your_ money. Not from you and where you’re _from._ Lance sighed.

"I’m probably going to regret this…" Lance thought, already regretting it.

“Alright, I’ll take… a dollar.” Lance began.

Her mouth jolted open in protest, but Lance managed to hump in before she could give voice to it.

“Wait a sec! I’m going to take a dollar. I probably need it to make up my bus fare. I don’t need any more than that so you’re actually really helping me here. But seriously, you don’t need to reward me for bringing you your wallet. I’m just honestly glad you’re alright after the tumble you took. You really smashed into the floor.”

“That’s not enough” Autumn sighed. “I need to pay the debt.”

Lance repressed a groan. "Seriously, what do I have to do to get this bloody raccoon to call it quits!" 

“Okay, how about this. You know those guitar lessons? You _have_ to go to them now.” Lance said, determined to finish the issue once and for all.

“You can do four sessions okay? That’s 40 dollars. You’ll have paid me back and then some, though I still have no idea what exactly you’re paying me back for. So that’s four sessions plus the freebie. Five sessions in all. Sound good?”

A pause. Lance looked into her eyes, trying to as serious with her as possible. Her eyes slightly twitching as she thought it over, she let out a sigh.

“That, that sounds… fair.”

“Finally!” Lance breathily exhaled, before taking one dollar his paw and handing back the rest.

“So…we good now?”

The raccoon looked at the money before pocketing it and nodding.

“Great. Now, when d’you want me to come down here for our first lesson?”

The raccoon cocked her head in confusion, ear tilting to the side as she did so.

"Huh, that’s kinda cute." Lance thought, internally chucking at her bemused face.

 “You know, to do the lessons?” Lance said, slightly patronisingly. “When are you free? I can get down here in about forty minutes from mine so –”

“You can’t do it here!” The panic was apparent in her voice, taking Lance a bit by surprise.

“I er,” she backpedalled, the cogs of her mind clearly showing on her face “I mean er, my dad, he works from home so er, it wouldn’t be… I don’t want to erm, er, disturb him.”

"Sure, works from home. I believe that." Lance thought, believing it about as much as he believed in the hairless ape conspiracy. Yet, with her reaction, Lance doubted he’d change her mind. Plus he didn’t really fancy coming back here again if he could avoid it.

“Alright then. Wouldn’t want to disturb the hardworking father now, would we?”

“No, no… we wouldn’t.” Autumn said sullenly, rubbing her arm slightly.

“Do you er, have somewhere we could do this? Your place or something?”

“My place?” Lance said, rubbing his chin.

"What the hell would Becky say, bringing unknown animals to her, our, flat? Well, it would only be one animal and she seems harmless enough. Needs a wash but harmless. I think I can smooth this over. Besides, a pupil on day one? Yeah, I bet I can swing this. Say it’s only for this one. Bet I can think of a reason. The others I’ll go to their houses. Yeah, I bet I can swing this."

“Yeah, sure,” Lance finally replied. “Just got to make sure it’s okay with my girlfriend first but should be. I’ll text you when I know. Oh er, send me a text so I’ve got your number.”

“Okay.” came the slightly warm reply, before she took out her phone and rapidly text a message for Lance.

A couple of seconds passed before the familiar text tone rang out on Lance’s phone. Pulling it out of his pocket, he gave a cursory glance at the message not bothering to read the message.

“Yeah, just got it. I’ll let you know as soon as I know, okay?” Lance said, pocketing the phone again and readjusting the bag once again, with it becoming quite uncomfortable on his quills.

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded before noise came from inside the house.

“Er, that’ll be er, my dad. I gotta go.” The raccoon said, before quietly walking back into her house.

“Bye then.” Lance replied, before turning away from the tumbledown house and quickly making his way through the rough estate, his mind no longer focused on his surroundings. Indeed, he didn’t begin to recognise where he was until he had made it back to Apolovia and was sitting on the bus heading back home.

"Well, at least it’s a start." Lance’s mind began. "Cheap start but it’s a start. Can’t do that with everyone Lance. You’re not a charity case. You need their money. That’s all. You’re not out to help every poor animal you see. You’re here to make money, get gigs, get successful, be a rock star. You and no-one else. You don’t need anybody else. You are all you need. Everyone else is just stopping you from being famous. Everyone else is belittling your talent. Talent that no-one else has. Stop being such a sap and get on with what you’re meant to be doing."

By the end of the bus journey, Lance was feeling a bit annoyed with himself. Feeling his phone in his jeans pocket, he mulled over whether he should just cancel her sessions. Sure, it would be a student lost, but if she couldn’t stump up the full fee then what was the point of her coming? He needed to make money and the time he’d be teaching her, he could be teaching someone else for treble the price, not to mention the free session where he’d make diddly squat!

With his mind made up, he grabbed his phone, ready to call it all off.

Clicking the circle button, the phone flashed to life, with a short message popping up in a little white box.

_Thank you, Mr Morgan. For being nice. I look forward to the lessons. Autumn Larkin._

Staring at the message, Lance couldn’t hold back a smile.

"Me? Nice? Does she not know who I am? Heart-breaker extraordinaire? Public Enemy Number 1? Wait, Mr Morgan? Doesn’t she know me? Wait, maybe she doesn’t. I didn’t say my name.It’s not on the cards. She says she doesn’t have email, hell she may not have internet if she doesn’t have email. She, she really may not know who I am. Maybe the only animal in Las Animales not to know. And she said I was nice…"

Lance mulled over that. No-one had called him nice in a while, let alone say he had made someone’s day. Not even Becky. Thinking back, Ash was probably the last one to say anything like that to him, but that was years ago when their relationship was still young and untainted by Ash’s constant attempts to upstage him and ruin his shows.

Looking back at his phone, he re-read the message.

"Autumn Larkin, huh? That’s a nice name." he thought, a little smile creeping on his face. Lance quickly saved her in his contacts. His smiled remained on his face, his mind drifting back to the nice comment, leaving him surprisingly content for the rest of the journey.

The bus reaching his stop, Lance stepped off with the smile still plastered on his face. Finally getting back into the apartment, Lance dumped the guitar in the corner and adjusting his quills, vowing to carry the guitar in his paw from now on.

He had a quick look over the room and, as if realising it for the first time, saw how much of a mess it was.

"God, have I been living like this?" Lance thought. Lance checked his phone for the time. Quarter past three.

"Still got time." Lance thought. In an inexplicably good mood for the first time in a while, Lance headed out the door.


	4. Brown Eyed Girl - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance continues to get his ass into gear, and Becky sees day one's results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! For some reason, this wouldn't go with the rest of Chapter 3 no matter how much I tried so consider this Chapter 3.5. Next chapter will be the official Chapter 4. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

A few hours later, Becky returned home, expecting to see Lance still glued to the sofa with crumbs all around him and maybe a half empty lukewarm pizza left out for her as had become the norm over the last few months. What she wasn’t expecting was the sweet aroma of the food being cooked.

Instead of being implanted into the settee, Lance was in the kitchen cooking. With the cooker. With actual food. And spices. Spices! To say that Becky was agog was understatement. Her jaw had near enough dropped to the floor, nearly joining her handbag which fell to the fall, the contents scattering across the floor.

“Oh, hey Becky!” Lance said cheerily, before coming over and giving her a sweet peck on the check before moving back over to monitor the stir fry he was in the middle of cooking.

“You’re… you’re cooking?” Becky said, her gaze barely moving away from the weird apparition in front of her.

“Yep! Making Synth Chicken Stir Fry! Must admit, never really thought about getting synth meat. Just always seemed a bit wrong and veggies are just so good! But I was getting some shopping earlier and this butcher guy said I should give it a go. Totally fine for herbivores and not to listen to the scary stories. So I thought, why the hell why not? Don’t knock it before you try it, or at least that’s what the guy said.”

Becky stood there, trying to take everything in. Lance was in a good mood. He was in the kitchen not for snacks or alcohol. He seemed sober, at least she couldn’t smell the usual Glenfiddich or Johnnie Walker Red on him. He was smiling. Smiling! So Becky did the only thing she could.

“But you’re…you’re cooking?” Becky repeated.

“Yeah, kind of missed it actually. Should do it more often. Got started pretty much after I hoovered and everything.”

“You vacuumed?!” Becky’s mind was awhirl with all the possibilities of what had happened to Lance between leaving this morning and coming home. Body snatcher? Aliens? That stupid she made on a start last month coming true? All the while the oblivious Lance kept cooking, adding homemade sauce to the delicious smelling Chinese concoction.

“Hey, this nearly done so d’you wanna get out your work clothes? I’ll plate up in a sec.” Lance smiled, happily finishing off the meal.

Still in a state of shock, Becky went off to the bedroom and automatically changed out of her work clothes and got into something more comfortable. Sitting at the table, a glass of wine already poured for her, Becky looked over the meal that Lance plated up for her. It looked delicious. The smell was intoxicating. She stabbed one of the synth chicken pieces and quickly popping it in her mouth. It was gorgeous. Tasting the wine. A perfect match for the meal.

Sitting down, Lance started on his own meal before looking up at the still stunned Becky.

“So how was your day?” Lance asked in between mouthfuls.

Boyfriend asking about her day? Perfect. This is what she’d been yearning for for what felt like an age. Finally, everything was seeming right in their relationship.

And it all felt so, so wrong.

“Okay, what the hell is going on Lance?!” Becky roared, the damn finally bursting, unable to contain herself any longer.

Lance looked up, a bit in shock at the sudden rage.

“What d’you mean babe?”

“Babe? BABE! I’ll give you babe minute!” Becky screamed, standing on the breakfast table’s high stool.

“Whoa! Calm down, what have I done Becky?” Lance asked, confusion filling up in his eyes.

“Exactly! What have you done Lance? I leave this morning and you look like something that’s been scraped off the bottom of truck on the freeway and I come back home and you’re playing Mr Perfect Boyfriend! The hell happened Lance! You win some money? Got a record contract? Having an affair?”

“No, I have not!” Lance interrupted, feeling this was going too far into sensitive territory.

“Oh my God you are having an affair!” Becky wailed, jumping off the stool and backing away from him.

“What?!” Lance cried incredulously. “The hell d’you get that from?”

“You only denied that one so it must be what you’re doing!” Becky yelled, starting to get a bit hysterical.

“Okay, back up here! I have not, nor will ever again, cheat on anyone! I’ve done that once and it wasn’t pretty. Hell, we didn’t even kiss!”

“You went to kiss her?!”

“I’m talking about you ya dingbat! D’you not remember the whole us getting kicked out my apartment when Ash turned up?” Lance shot back, getting a bit heated now at the unfounded insinuations.

“Then what then?! What’s this all about?! ‘Cos if you don’t tell me the truth right now then so help me God-”

“I GOT A JOB BECKY! HAPPY? I GOT A FREAKING JOB!” Lance yelled, his voice rumbling out of him like an almighty thunderstorm.

Becky’s face was a picture. It was if all the anger got gut punched out of her. Her trembling fury was replaced by a still incomprehension.

“You… you what?” Becky managed to say.

“I got a job okay? I… I took your advice and looked for work.” Lance said, forcing calmness into his voice.

They remained silent for a while, letting the tension in the air hang for a moment, the heat of the argument leaving both Lance and Becky breathing heavily, as if they had been out for a marathon.

As if instinctual, both Lance and Becky made their way to the sofa, sitting at opposite ends, not quite ready to be close just yet after such explosions of anger.

“So,” Becky began, trying to keep a conciliatory tone “What job is it then?”

“I’m er, gonna be a private music teacher. A tutor really.” Lance said quietly, keeping his head down, not daring to look at Becky directly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a new card he put there in preparation of his big reveal.

Becky looked it over. It was the same as the previous one but now with a phone number she did not recognise.

“I got a cheap pay-as-you-go phone,” Lance commented, seeing her confusion. “Just for business. Only does texts and calls. Everything else will go to my emails which I’ll still have on my normal phone.”

Lance pulled out his new, well new to him, work phone. It was an older model but looked in good nick. It wasn’t a touch screen or anything but it looked like it could so the basics.

“I’m gonna start handing these cards out tomorrow. Put them anywhere that’ll take them. Hopefully they’ll be okay with a Mr Morgan teaching them than the infamous Lance.”

Becky tapped the card against her paw, as if considering something. Lance glanced up to her face. She seemed to be contemplating what he was saying. The anger had gone now, she was just thinking. Going over what he was saying over in her mind.

At least she’s hearing me out Lance thought hopefully.

“So how much are you charging for this then?” Becky stated, her voice coming over more in a business manner now.

That was the one thing about Becky he kind of admired. Though she looked ditzy and fashion obsessed, and okay sometimes she was, but she had a good business mind. She could see whether something was viable or not and it helped Lance get more lucrative gigs before Ashgate happened.

“I thought about charging 30 bucks for adults, 20 for kids and give a half price first session, you know, to get animals interested. Plus I’ll be going to their houses so I’ll need that much to make it worth going out on public transport.”

“Hmm,” Becky was processing the maths in her head. “You’ll need to get a season pass. For both bus and rail. Otherwise you’ll be barely breaking even. It’s a bit of an investment but it’ll be better in the long run.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m going to go down there tomorrow and – wait, you think this is a good idea?!”

Becky shrugged. “I mean, it’s gonna be a lot of work and it’s not going to be profitable at first but I can see this working. Not every animal knows who you are and some don’t give a damn. I can see you getting a few students and, in a few months or so, I can see you making some decent money.” Becky summed up in a matter of fact manner. “I mean, nothing compared to me obviously, but still decent money.” Becky teased.

Lance couldn’t believe it. Becky thought it was good idea. Granted the big reveal hadn’t gone the way he wanted, but she thought it was good idea. Lance quickly closed the gap between them and pulled a slightly surprised Becky in for an unexpected hug.

“Thank you, Becky. This means a lot actually. I really think I can make this work. And then who knows? I might be able to get back into the gigging game and finally make it big.” Lance waffled.

“Okay, one step at a time rock star,” Becky jokingly chided, returning the hug. “You’ve got to get this off the ground first and pay me back your share of the rent first.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll get it all square between us soon. I promise!” Lance chimed in as they separated from the hug.

“Yeah, you better had!” Becky said, playfully punching his shoulder.

A small silence fell over them, the previous tension having dissipated and a mildly happier atmosphere returning to the flat.

“So, dinner smells nice.” Becky said, nodding her head towards the table.

“Oh shit! It’ll be getting cold!” Lance said, jumping up from the sofa and hurrying over to the table. Becky rolled her eyes and followed him at a much more relaxed pace.

Lance was pleased with himself. It had been a while since he’d cooked but it turned out alright. Becky even asked for second helpings. Riding his high, Becky was snuggled against Lance as they were watching The Devil Wears Prada. It was a film Becky loved and Lance outwardly loathed but, on the inside, had become secretly fond of the film, cheesiness and all.

With Becky leaned up against him, starting to drift off to sleep, Lance started to feel good. He may not love her, but he was still fond of her. She was sweet, kind, although with a bit of steel about her, and for all his faults, still wanted Lance to do well. Their relationship may not have started well, or been the most truthful for Lance, but treating it like an intimate platonic friendship seemed to work for them. They were comfortable. Content. Satisfied.

Then Lance remembered.

“Hey Becky?”

“Hmm?” Becky hummed, her eyelids slightly drooping.

“I forgot to tell you something.”

“What is it babe?” Becky cooed sleepily, looking up at him from his shoulder.

“Well it’s just erm, I got a student today.”

“Oh, that’s great honey,” Becky yawned. “When’s he start?”

Lance stiffened up a little, fortunately not noticed by the near dozing Becky.

"He? Should I tell Becky Autumn’s a girl? She wouldn’t be jealous or something, would she? Then again, she did erupt like a volcano when I cooked tea, God knows what she’ll do if my first student is a girl and wants to come to the apartment. I’ll just keep it quiet for now. Once she starts paying, I’m sure Becky will see sense. Yeah, I see no problem with that."

“Erm, yeah that’s the thing,” Lance started, the half-truths forming in his head. “You see he’s not exactly got somewhere to do the lessons with me.”

“What, is he homeless?” Becky joked.

“No, nothing like that, it’s just he shares his house with someone and he doesn’t want to disturb them.”

"Well that’s mostly true." Lance thought.

“So, what are you going to do then? Teach in the park or something?”

“Well,” Lance hesitated “I was wondering, if it’s okay with you that is, if we could erm, do the lessons… here.”

Becky remained silent for a moment, the tension suddenly spiking within Lance.

"Shit, did I fuck up? Is that a step too far? I didn’t want to ruin this night for her. What’s she gonna-"

“Sounds fine to me.”

“Sorry what?” Lance responded, the disbelief apparent in his voice.

“I said it’s fine ya doofus” Becky replied gently, and awkwardly, swatting him with a free paw. “So long as you do it while I’m work or something then I’m okay with it. Just don’t make a mess or anything. Don’t want to clear up after two slobs rather than one.”

Lance breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, will do Becky.”

“And no electric guitars. Don’t want the neighbours to complain. Again.”

“Sure thing, mom.” Lance mocked in an exaggerated voice.

Becky laughed. “Don’t sass your mother. Now off to bed with you. It’s a school night, don’t cha know?”

“But I don’t wanna go to school.” Lance moaned, crossing his arms like a petulant child, getting into the silliness.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Becky said, abruptly finishing their silliness .

“Oh, okay.” Lance replied.

That was something that he did miss. A bit of silliness. He and Ash had that sometimes, times where they could just goof around and make each other laugh. Well, before she started trying to upstage him, then the sun stopped. Sure, a brief second or so, but it always got cut off before it could fully develop. It felt so frustrating.

And with the fun ended, they both went to bed, quietly going to sleep without much talking between them.

It was about four in the morning when Lance woke up, his mind unusually active for that time of night. He might be a nocturnal mammal by nature but evolution and societal expectations had left them as a diurnal and so Lance was definitely not a late night/early morning kind of guy.

Grabbing himself a glass of water, Lance sat on the couch drinking the cool contents, hoping that would lull him back to sleep.

Looking down at the coffee table in front of him, Lance saw that he had left his phone lying there before heading to bed. Picking it up, Lance turned it on.

Maybe I can skim read something. Reading’s supposed to help you sleep, right?

After being initially blinded by his phone, Lance quickly turned down the brightness, before skim reading a few articles, not really taking in the content.

After reading another article bemoaning some hot political issue, something that Lance didn’t pay much attention to since he never really understood why the animals here we’re having arguments of basic stuff, he quickly flicked away the app for another restless night.

Just as he was about to hit the sleep button, Lance eyes drifted over to the text messages.

Wasn’t I meant to text someone? Lance thought, the sleep starting to hit him now before realisation hit him like a lightning bolt.

"Crap! Autumn!"

Opening the app, Lance tapped on Autumn’s name and hurriedly drafted a quick message. Reading it once over, Lance hit the send button.

Looking at the message in the green bubble, Lance hope he hadn’t disturbed Autumn’s sleep. It simply read:

Hey Autumn. Sorry for the late message but it’s all sorted. The lessons I mean. Is sometime in the day okay? Message me back when you’re free so we can get this sorted :)

The smiley face immediately bothered Lance.

"Was that too much? I mean, I’m meant to be the teacher. Do teacher send smiley face messages to their students? Probably not. Well she’s not a student yet but still, don’t think I should have done it. Not exactly the most professional thing to do. But then again messaging someone at quarter to five isn’t exactly screaming great teacher or anything."

His phone suddenly let out a ping that, in the quiet of the dim apartment, sounded more like a chime gigantic bell being struck right next to Lance’s ear.

Lance, recovering from the shock of the piercing note, looked back down at his phone.

It was Autumn.

_I’m free Wednesday about 3-ish. Is that ok?_

"Bloody hell," Lance thought. "That was quick. I must have woken her up but still."

Lance quickly typed out a reply.

_Sure. I’ll see you next Wednesday then._

Almost instantaneously the phone ping again, Lance now muffling the phone and switching it to silent.

_See you then._

Lance smiled as he turned the phone off and pushed himself off the sofa. Everything was in place. Cards to distribute. A new, sort of, guitar. Business phone. Brand new start.

Lance quietly crept into the bedroom, Becky gently sleeping on her side, her chest softly rising with each breath. Lance chuckled. 

"She does look cute when she sleeps, I’ll give her that."

Putting his phone on charge, resting it on the bedside table, Lance looked over in the corner of the room. Piled high with his boxes rested the banged-up guitar he bought at Marv’s and, resting next to it lay another, bursting with light in its centre, with a subdued darkness round its edges.

Lance went and knelt by it, gently stroking its well-kept body, gently touching the strings, so not to incur too much noise and awaken Becky.

It felt the same as it did back then. Back in those days. A sad smile lingered on his face before Lance pulled himself away.

Climbing back into bed, Lance finally felt the sweet embrace of peaceful unconsciousness push his eyelids down, the two guitars watching over his sleep, trying to claw into his dreams.


	5. Can I Do Anything Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his first lesson coming up quick, nothing could possibly go wrong for our porcupine! Could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry it's been a while but life has gotten in the way but I'm back to finally break the chapter 3 barrier after my last fanfic! I'm going to be very busy in the future but I will definitely keep chapters coming, even if it takes a while so be patient with me! I'd also like to thank my new editor for my work! You can find her on tumblr at friendofthatoneotherfriend. Also thank you to Oddwilde22 and Dosser for reading this and providing some useful feedback.Please leave kudos, bookmarks and comments! Anyway, on with the next chapter! And, as always, Sing is owned by Illumination Entertainment. I only own my OCs.

The rest of the week had been, for lack of a better word, peaceful. Waking up that morning after a blissful slumber, Lance had found a little handwritten note promising to return the favour for the wonderful meal last night. She even signed it with a little kiss. Smirking at what the favour could be, Lance had readied himself for the day in possibly the happiest mood he had been in for months. 

Shoving business cards and wallet in his pockets, Lance made his way through the city centre putting his cards into any business that would have them. A lot of the time he would get asked to leave, the stigma still hanging strong over the porcupine’s head, but a few places still let him past the door and advertise his business. Bookshops, cafés and even a few barbershops and a sex shop he had unwittingly entered which had left Lance feeling more flustered than he could remember being.

He thought of that silky-voiced leopard, leaning over the counter, her loose top revealing a little too much, or perhaps enough for where she worked Lance wasn’t sure. Taking his card, she promised that she might swing by for some _fun_ , her voice purring out the last word while her predatory eyes allowed Lance a fleeting look into her inner thoughts. Mumbling a vague excuse, Lance made his way out of the door, his steps wobbly and his cheeks burning up.

Becky even delivered on her favour. No sooner had she come home that she pulled him into a passionate kiss. Though initially thrown by the abruptness of the kiss, Lance quickly relaxed into it, his eyes dropping shut as they joined together in tongue tango.

That was another thing Lance kind of had to respect about Becky. While she may have acted a bit dense with Ash when they were discovered, even going as far to ask the enrage ex for sunglasses back while in the midst Lance being kicked out of his apartment, she also could be a bit forceful when she wanted to.

Lying exhausted next to a spent and slumbering Becky, Lance couldn’t deny that things had definitely gotten better in the space of twenty-four hours. The start of a new business, the ever so slight decrease of accusatory glances and slurs, and a girlfriend who had a drive that would even put a blush on the lewd leopard. Lance lay on the rumpled bedsheets, the scent of sex lingering in the air and embedding itself in every piece of fabric it could latch onto. From the closed window, the light of the full moon flooded the room in a pale white hue while Becky’s chest rose and fell as she slept beside him.

In the midst of this all, Lance’s mind still ticked over, taking it all in, the tranquillity of the moment. The noise of the constant city traffic a mere distant whir in the twilight hours, almost completely overshadowed by Becky’s gentle breathing and the mechanical hum of the fridge in the next room.

It felt pretty good, like things were beginning to get back on track. The rekindling of things that been lost before. Lance wasn’t about to go all mushy on himself and think this was it, the beginning of his new life, but he savoured the fleeting glimpse his mind played for him, on stage, playing his music, alone, with no-one to drag him down or upstage him, the thoughts helping him fall asleep.

The week thereafter whizzed by in a blur of activity, handing out cards, mending broken fences with Becky and even doing his fair share of domestic tasks, the phone not being used once for a takeaway as Lance started to rediscover his way around the cooker. It was almost becoming habit now for Lance to roll out of bed with something of a smile on his face, looking forward to his day rather than dreading the waking hours. With things looking up ever so slightly, Lance went to bed looking forward his first lesson with Autumn.

The late day sun finally roused Lance, the rays of light pricking against his eyes, forcing them to acknowledge his late awakening. Glancing over to the clock, it’s red digital face showing 11:34, Lance dragged himself away from his comfy mattress.

His body going on autopilot, Lance washed, brushed and dressed looked up at the clock quickly as he put the finishing touches to his late breakfast sandwich. 12:02.

"She doesn’t turn up till at least three o’clock so I could get a few hours of advertising done before I have to head back and get set up." Lance thought.

Grabbing his dwindling collection of cards, Lance scarfed down his synth bacon butty and slammed the door shut, making a mental note to visit _pins ‘n’ things_ to get more, hoping the warthog wasn’t the only cashier the place employed.

Walking down the half dead streets, most respectable animals in work, Lance shivered a little, pulling his jacket a little closer round him. The October air easily found its way through little nooks and crannies of his protective layers, making his fur stand on end.

“First thing I’m getting once I get enough cash.” Lance grumbled to himself. His jacket was too thin for this time for year, the dyed black wool had already been well-worn when he’d managed to get it a few years back from a second-hand shop. If it was worn then, it was barely holding itself together now. Complete with tears, scuff marks, and a strange yellow stain near the collar’s right side that no amount of washing had gotten rid of; it was truly a dustbin’s dream.

"Someday soon." Lance thought idly, before pushing _Meagan’s_ door open.

Stepping into _Meagan’s_ , Lance inhaled the intoxicating smell of food being cooked, its luxurious scent wafting from the kitchen and tempting all noses, snouts, and trunks that passed by into getting a plate stocked full of the good stuff while their wallets became lighter.

It wasn’t all too fancy either which suited Lance down to the ground.

"Ah, this is more like it." Lance thought. "This may not exactly be punk but it’s a damn side better than those hoity-toity places you can’t get in for love noir money by the city square."

 _Meagan’s_ exuded a homely vibe. Subdued colours, strong wooden tables, a fireplace crackling away at the back, and areas for mammals of all sizes and food to match, _Meagan’s_ was a home away from home for any animal who ventured across the threshold.

Lance wandered across the floor, letting the soothing atmosphere and comforting heat course through his body, his eyes occasionally flitting over to the crackling flames, wishing he could just sit himself near it for a few seconds to recover from the bitter colds outside. However, before his legs could divert him, a gruff voice from the bar cut him off.

“You lost, kid?” the voice said, making Lance swivel towards the sound.

Standing behind the individual bar for animals of the smaller persuasion was a badger that looked as if he was present at the founding of the city and still would have been getting on a bit. The fur on his muzzle had greyed considerably and, even though he had groomed himself, several stray whiskers spurted out in odd directions. His squinting eyes, hidden behind a pair of spectacles, were a dull brown that still had hints of the life and brightness that they once possession in years gone by, but had not lost any of the intensity of his gaze.

“Nah mate.” Lance said, recovering his composure as he sidled up to the badger, who was now resting his paws on the counter, a bar cloth held in his left paw. “Just came to see if you take business cards. Just got distracted by the, you know…” Lance trailed of, gesturing to the late morning feast behind him.

“Yeah, it’ll do that to you.” The badger chuckled, wiping down the bar with the standard lazy figure eight movement. “You eat here before?”

“Yeah, not for a while though.” Lance admitted, idly shoving his paws in his jacket pockets, not wanting to admit his cashflow crisis to a perfect stranger.

“Real shame, got some damn fine chefs back there. Heck, if I could I’d probably live in that kitchen but I gotta be out here at this damn bar.” The badger moaned, giving a quick glance to the kitchen door out the corner of his eye, the tempting aroma wafting out of the door the servers ferried meals out.

“Sorry, my mind wandered there for a minute. What d’you say you were here for again?”

Lance’s mind had been wandering in a similar direction as his elderly companion, his eyes drawn to the plates of food the waiters and waitresses brought from the kitchen, gliding to their respective destinations, the patrons gawking unabashedly at their hearty meals.

Swivelling his head back to the knowing gaze of the badger, a little smirk playing at the corners of his muzzle, Lance quickly regained control of his voice.

“Oh erm, yeah I came here to see if you wouldn’t mind putting these on a notice board. That or put some on the bar.” Lance said, pulling out a card and handing it to the badger across the bar.

Giving his glasses a quick wipe with his bar cloth, something Lance was sure wouldn’t improve their visibility, the badger squinted at the little card in his paw, his mouth slightly moving as he silently read the words.

“I’ve just started up so I thought coming to places like this might, you know, get my name out and stuff.” Lance said, trying to fill the silence as the badger took his time reading the tiny card. “If it’s not okay with your manager or whatever you’re free to keep the card just in case someone you know wants to give it a go.”  

“What if I wanted to give it a go?” the badger asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked over at Lance with a cold glare.

“I erm, I mean, I didn’t, not that you couldn’t, what I mean to say is erm, I mean, I’m not saying that, you know, I’m sure you’re completely erm…” Lance’s words careened against each other, like a room full of needy customers all vying to grab the attention of the one ill-prepared waiter.

The sudden thunderous laugh that emanated from the badger caught Lance, as well as a few nearby customers, completely off-guard. Soon enough the badger’s laugh trailed off, using the bar cloth to wipe away some joyous tears from the corner of his eyes while Lance remained stood stock still, stunned by the outburst while everybody else seemed to have moved on and returned to gorging themselves on their meals.

“Sorry kid, just couldn’t resist.” The badger said, the laughter becoming more of a stifled chuckle.

“Ha… yeah sure.” Lance forced out, rubbing the back of his neck a little nervously.

“Hey, I was just messing with you kid,” The badger said, noticing his uncertainty. “Not sure I could learn if I wanted to. Got a slight touch of the old arthritis. Nothing all too bad mind you, but certainly not for playing any of those solos and whatnot.”

Lance chuckled a little at the badger’s honesty.

“Hey, you never know! Music’s not just for the young. If it were then how the hell d’you explain Keith Richards?”

“I don’t think anyone can explain Keith Richards.” The badger said, chuckling again, Lance joining in.

"Just give me a minute while I go ask boss. Not too sure on all this stuff. Hang there a minute okay kid?”

“Sure thing.” Lance said, as he watched the badger make his way along the bar and disappear off down a corridor past the kitchen door.

Thinking it might be a little while, Lance saw a free table near the bar and plonked himself down, taking the weight of his hind paws while waiting, fiddling with his phone.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” A voice hissed in a loud whisper.

“Dunno, didn’t see his face. You sure? All porcupine’s look the same to me.” Another voice replied, this one only a fraction quieter. Clearly the duo had missed whispering class in school.

Trying to remain calm and not to look over in the direction the voices were coming from, Lance’s mind had begun to whir into overdrive.

"Are they talking about me? No, come on, maybe they mean another porcupine. We’re not that rare over here. It can’t always be about me, can it?"

“I’m pretty sure Lillian!” The first voice came back, an octave higher, demanding attention.

“You’re pretty sure about a lot of things Beth.” Lillian reprimanded, still trying to remain quiet.

“Name one time I was wrong!” Beth shot back.

“Johnny at Fenucci’s?” Lillian said, Lance getting the feeling by the way she said it that Johnny was in air quotes.

“He looked the spit of him!” Beth argued.

“ _She_ was an Orangutan with dyed fur!” Beth shot back.

“She was the spit of him!” Beth huffed.

“She was wearing a dress and earrings and everything! She looked nothing like a gorilla!” Beth countered, chuckling a little.  Even from where he was sitting, Lance could feel the hate Lillian was feeling for her companion, bringing a small smile to his lips.

“Okay, whatever!” Beth said dismissively. “Doesn’t change the fact that porcupine _is_ him. Use your eyes for God’s sake! You read the articles, you saw the pictures, that is definitely him!”

"So much for it not being me." Lance thought, the mention of articles confirming it. "Why can’t everyone just bloody well leave me alone? I didn’t even do anything wrong. How many vlogs and articles can they make about an overreaction? Never ask me for my side, do they? Always St. Ash the Martyr.  Bloody pricks. They just need to leave me be."

“Okay so what if it is him?” Lillian said, her tone exasperated. “What are you gonna do? Waltz over there and give him the third degree?”

“Hell yes I am!” Beth declared.

"Say what now?"

“For doing what?” Lillian argued. “He’s just sitting there. Just leave him be.”

"Listen to your friend, you crazy bint."

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Beth said, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor as she stood up punctuating her sentence.

"Still not listening to your friend!"

“Beth come on” Lillian pleaded. “Just leave him, he isn’t worth it.”

"Come on, last chance! Listen to your friend!"

“Fine, be a coward then! I’m going over.”

"Oh, what fun! Next stop, Crazy Fan Street."

His head focused down on his phone with almost religious devotion, staring at the screen as if it were a prayer book, as if he were searching for answers that would halt the inevitable progress of the incensed animal.

It didn’t work.

“So, you’re _him_ , aren’t you?” She said, putting as much venom into him as her voice could muster.

Realising that it was unavoidable, Lance reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the phone, looking upwards at the animal beside him.

Towering above him was a very irate looking cow, looking down at him with such hateful intensity that he was surprised he didn’t burst into flames right there and then.

“Depends who him is.” Lance replied, coming out a bit snarkier than was probably wise.

“You know who I mean. You’re the one who cheated on Ash.” Beth said, pointing an accusatory hoof right in his face.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Clearly his response clacked any sort of conviction as the cow scoffed at him.

“Oh, you’re _definitely_ him.” She said triumphantly, as if she had cracked some case or something.

“Look, I’m just here on business. Can’t you just leave me be? I’m not causing any harm to you or anything, am I?”

“Oh, not causing harm, are you?” She replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What about the sweetest, most talented girl you’ll ever get your grubby paws on? Dropped her like a hot plate as soon as she started doing well for herself? Do you have no shame?”

She was causing a bit of a scene now, quite a lot of the customers looking over our way, a few even pulling out their phones to record the incident.

"Oh great, new material for the internet. _Won-der-ful_."

“Come on Beth, animals are watching.” Lillian said, trying to pull her friend away as the restaurant’s attention was becoming focused on them.

Swatting the horse’s hoof off her arm, Beth’s glare remained fixed upon the small mammal before her.

“What was it though?” Beth continued, ignoring her friend. “Was it ‘cos she got accepted into the show and you didn’t? ‘Cos she’s actually good at what she does? That she’s successful?”

Lance clenched his paws, his anger building within him, his quills starting to quiver despite his best efforts to suppress it.

“No, I bet you knew,” Beth said, now leaning into him and prodding her hoof into his chest. “I bet, deep down, you knew she was better than you and that scared you. Scared you that you knew she was better than you and could up and leave at any time.”

She was leaning into him now, her face uncomfortably close to his. Lance eye twitched as he felt her breathing through her broad nostrils directly into his face. Sensing his discomfort, Beth grinned and carried on.

“So, you did the only thing you could do. You got someone else. Anyone else that could satisfy that ego of yours. All you had to know was that you were better than them, but not that that’s saying much. Had to protect yourself. Didn’t want anyone bursting that pretentious little bubble you’ve put yourself in? It’s pathetically obviously really.”

Lance was tense now. This wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t even the worst he’d heard. But there was something about her tone, her self-righteousness, her conviction, that was really rubbing Lance the wrong way.

Lance took a quick glance round at the room, everything having stopped. All eyes now firmly glued to the show, waiting to see if it was going to turn into some sort of live action Punch and Judy.

"Don’t give her the satisfaction." Lance reminded himself. "This is what she wants. She’s going to have to do a lot more to get a rise out of me."

“But what did you expect?” Beth laughed. She pulled her face away, standing at her full height. Towering above him, she gave him a look like a disappointment parent gives a petulant child that knows no better.

Lance tensed up as she went from accusatory to disregarding in the blink of an eye. The way she was looking at him now, eyes half-lidded, it was as if he wasn’t even worth the effort of hating anymore. Just something to be pitied.

“You,” Beth began, barely even putting effort into her final putdown. “are just a third rate, talentless nobody.”

Lance’s thoughts barely registered before he had slammed his paws down on the table and stood in his chair. Staring at Beth, his entire being quivering with barely checked indignation, Lance was ready to launch himself out of the chair and have it out with this bloody bovine here and now, to hell with the consequences.

“Is there a problem here?”

Turning around in the chair, Lance saw the time-worn badger, paws on hips, who was looking between the two mammals, Lillian apparently having retreated to a safe distance to escape his ire.

“No problem here.” The cow said in a sickly-sweet tone. “I’ve said all I need to say.”

With a last, victorious glance at him, Beth left with all the swagger of a child who had stolen from the cookie jar and not been noticed.

Watching her leave, with Lillian clopping after her, Lance looked down at the badger, who was staring at Lance with what almost looked like disappointment.

In that moment, Lance became acutely aware of all the animals openly gaping at him. Phones were out, all having undoubtedly recorded the entire exchange, and now ready to document his final conclusive meltdown and let it go viral, with memes and gifs aplenty spawning from it.

"Is that all I am to these animals? An attraction? Did they not see what happened? Do they care? I didn’t cause this! I… I didn’t cause this. I didn’t…"

His thoughts becoming more uncertain, Lance slowly let himself out of the chair, his head hung low in contemplation, as he made his way over to the badger who was still standing before him.

“Mind telling me what all that was about?” the elderly badger asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.

The thoughts still going on like a maelstrom in his mind, Lance felt ready to let it all out, the injustice, the accusations, the sheer fury that lay within him at being made a pariah from what seemed to be most animals in Las Animales. He felt determined. He was going to do this.

Then he looked up.

The badger was looking at him not with hate, or disgust, or prejudice like the other animals had been. He looked concerned. Genuinely concerned. It had been such a long time since anyone had looked at him like that that Lance almost didn’t recognise it. This badger that he barely knew was concerned about him when he should be kicking him out and barring him from ever darkening the doorstep of _Meagan’s_ again.

The guilt and shame began to flood in, filling up his entire being in one fell swoop.

"What was I about to do? Shout the odds with a cow in a restaurant? And over what? Even her friend tried to stop her and I… I nearly proved her right about me. I would have proved them all right. That I’m just some musical hack. A philander. A hotheaded mess. A nobody."

A pit formed in his stomach that not even all the glorious smell of all the delectable dishes could dissuade. All Lance wanted to do now was to get out, get away from the glares and the shame. Especially the shame.

“I’m... I’m sorry.” Lance said monotonously, the words devoid of any feeling. “I won’t take up anymore of your time. Sorry for causing you trouble.”

And with that Lance turned and began to leave as calmly as possible, avoiding the gaze of the badger and the recording phones, trying his best not to sprint out and look like the criminal they all thought him to be. Pushing through the door, the brisk air a stark contrast to the homely heat from inside, Lance moved a few steps away from the door before stopping, letting out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. Standing for a moment, gasping as if he had fled a bloodthirsty mob, Lance managed to get his breathing under control before allowing his body to go on autopilot. Avoiding bumping into other animals and ignoring the stares and glares that came his way, Lance mindlessly trudged back to his flat, his pockets still brimming with cards.

* * *

Shutting the door behind him, Lance slumped against the door, not even making the effort to flop onto the sofa mere feet away from him. Letting out a sigh, Lance dragged his paws across his face, attempting to hide his shame from the empty apartment.

"Come on Lance, slamming your paws down on the table? What were you thinking? You know better than that. What do you do if an animal recognises you?"

“Stay quiet. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” He responded aloud.

"Good, and what if they start making personal comments?" His internal instructor questioned.

“Keep quiet and, if possible, walk away. Put as much physical and conversational distance between you and the animal.”

"Good. Now what did you do wrong today?"

“Talked back.” Lance said glumly.

"Ah, not only that. What else did you do?"

“I…” Lance started.

"Sorry, I didn’t hear that?"

“I got angry…” Lance mumbled.

"Come on! Once more with diction."

“I GOT FUCKING ANGRY.” Lance yelled, not caring if his neighbours heard.

"Well, there was no need for that language now, was there?" His internal voice chastised. "But yes, don’t do it again. You’re above all that. It wasn’t your fault so don’t give them the satisfaction. Keep doing this and it’ll never blow over. Don’t feed the fire. Let it die out and then you can rise from its ashes as what you are."

“A rock star.” Lance breathed out, his entire body calming as he remembered the end goal, the way to prove to everyone he was better than what they thought and to rub it into Ash’s smug little face.

"That’s right. Now your first lesson starts soon so get your mopey ass up and get ready."

As if on cue, a small knock came from the door, the vibrations passing from the wood directly onto his played out quills and back.

Looking up at the clock on the wall, Lance saw that it was still a few minutes before three, yet he realised he’d spent the last ten minutes sitting on the floor mentally berating himself and hadn’t even set up for the lesson.

Hauling himself off the floor, Lance quickly dusted himself down, and, checking himself quickly on his phone’s camera, opened the door.

Autumn was in the same misshapen green jumper, stained and torn jeans, and collapsing converse that she was wearing when Lance saw her last. The only difference this time was that fur looked like it had been groomed. Even though she was still as dirty as before, it looked as if she had brushed it meticulously, even her blackened tail had garnered similar treatment, the grime remaining but the fur now looking as if it had received some level of care and attention.

Yet, despite the muck that appeared to go skin deep, she didn’t smell. In fact, Lance giving a quick involuntary sniff, found she smelled… good. Identifying scents or perfumes was not exactly Lance’s forte, but whatever it was, it wasn’t how he’d imagine a raccoon would smell. It was deep woody scent, oaky almost. It was almost as if Lance was transported deep into a peaceful wood, allowing the breeze to sway the leaves of the trees, to soothe him, the gentle sounds of nature letting him escape from everything and everyone.

“Are… are you okay Mr Morgan?”

Broken from his forest fantasy, Lance realised that he had just been standing there taking in Autumn’s scent and just left her to stand there on his doorstep while probably looked like some creep.

“Oh erm, sorry, come er, come in… please.” Lance said, the words tripping over themselves as he turned to his side, gesturing her inside.

Although she gave him a hesitant look, Autumn walked in. Lance let out a breath and quietly shut the door behind him.

“Er, just give me a sec and I’ll get the guitars. Just make yourself comfy.” Lance said absentmindedly, leaving Autumn standing awkwardly in the living room while he quickly went into the bedroom.

Grabbing a couple of picks, and stowing in them in his pocket, Lance picked up both guitars by the necks and nudged the door of the bedroom back open with his foot.

Autumn was still standing in the centre of the living room, her hidden paws picking at the jumper’s sleeves, her eyes flitting across the room.

“Hey, grab a pew. It’s fine.” Lance said, gesturing to the sofa behind her as he rested the guitars against the coffee table, making sure they weren’t going to fall over.

Still wary, Autumn sat herself onto the very edge of the sofa, still looking about as comfortable as a cub sitting outside the principal’s office, waiting for her parents to arrive.

Plonking himself down, Lance looked over to the clearly still nervous Autumn, her paws still picking at her jumper and her head bowed down.

"Okay, best get this started then."

“So, you wanna learn guitar then?” Lance asked redundantly, only eliciting a small and hesitant nod from the racoon still perched on the settee and still not daring to look up at him.

“Well you’ve come to the right porcupine for that. I’m a pretty big deal on the Las Animales circuit don’t you know?” Lance bragged, a puff of pride rising in his chest that Lance had thought had all but died. When Autumn didn’t shoot him down immediately, Lance took it as his cue to continue.

“Yeah, played a load of gigs all around the city. Don’t think there’s a place in this city I haven’t played to my adoring public. Feels freaking awesome to just get up on stage and just shred it on the guitar, getting your music out there and having all those animals eating out the palm of your paws. No other feeling like it.”

Lance let himself bask in the memories of his playing, the crowds cheering, his voice soaring, Ash just being what she always should have been, his back up and nothing more.

"God those were the fucking days."

Autumn silently nodded. Lance, though happy that his ego had been stroked, still wasn’t totally satisfied with such a subdued response.

"Guess I’ll have to give her demo. I’ll give her one of my own, show her I’m the real deal." Lance thought, smirking a little.

“Hey, listen.” Lance began, reaching down to his guitar and placing it in his lap, the smooth wood fitting perfectly against him. “A lot of animals would pay top dollar to get to see this but how about I give you a little preview of what you could do with my guidance. Sound good?”

Before Autumn had time to respond, Lance immediately started playing the first of his self-penned songs that came to mind. It was nothing too hard he thought, just an easy tune. Strumming away, sliding from one power chord to the next with ease, Lance closed his eyes, letting himself escape the room and into his own musical haven.

The chords came so easily and instinctively, his paws gliding up and down the strings so effortlessly like knife through butter. He wasn’t sure if he was humming or singing the lyrics.  Maybe he was silent? He couldn’t tell. All that was going through him that moment was the music, the ebb and flow of it, its meaning, its soul, its exquisite simplicity, it unique ability to embolden, to humble, to awe, to repel, to feel, all springing forth from the guitar, Lance being a mere tool, an instrument for the instrument, a gateway to the melodies.

Finishing the song with a flourish, Lance’s mind was awash with internal adulation, the crowds screaming his name, demanding encores, buying his records, wearing all the Lance merchandise, a plethora of porcupine products, all with his name emblazoned upon them.

It was delicious bliss.

"And now for her applause." Lance thought proudly.

Opening his eyes, Lance looked expectantly over at Autumn. The lashings of praise and applause, the agog stare, the jaw hung open in shock, the pleading to immediately teach her his own composition, the near religious worship he felt was deserved for such a stellar performance. It would come any second now.

Autumn looked at him with awkward eyes, the stare unnerving Lance from the usually skittish raccoon. Her usual jumper twiddling had stopped, her uncertainty vanished, yet were not replaced by looks of joy or appreciation, as if all her emotions and feeling had been drawn back inwards, to safety, leaving herself outer self a shell, devoid of any feeling.

“So er…” Lance began, attempting a confident air. “What d’you think? Pretty awesome, right? Bet you can’t wait to learn it? Got a whole pack of animals up on their paws, hooves, you know erm, everything! So er, you know er, you’re, you’re gonna wanna learn a lot of erm, er, stuff to get up to my level. You know, I mean, you want animals to erm, see you as the real deal and erm, all that.”

Lance’s ramblings did not seem to inspire confidence, in either him or Autumn. The longer Lance spoke the more his voice wavered and, if possible, the less emotional Autumn became, staring at him with all the emotional complexity of a pencil. The seconds seemed to pass for eternity before sound permeated the space.

“It erm, it was… something.” Autumn said, her voice mangling her attempt to sound upbeat with her indifferent tone.

Lance’s mind went from disconcerted but still hopeful, to completely aghast.

"The fuck did I do wrong? I played the song perfectly? I didn’t fuck up, did I? No, how the fuck could I? I can play that song backwards! In my fucking sleep! I know that song inside out. I know I did nothing wrong."

Looking at Autumn’s indifference to his obvious talents, the dismay quickly began to fester, his mind turning to more sinister speculations.

"It’s got to be her. She doesn’t know greatness when it’s right in front of her. Clearly! I mean, I just gave her a free fucking demonstration in a free lesson and what the hell she do? Fucking look at me like I know nothing! NOTHING! She has no clue, ignorant time waster. Best get this fucking thing over with."

Looking back at the now nonplussed Autumn, his silence apparently going on longer than he thought, Lance swung his head back up, angrily glaring at her.

“Am I teaching you or what?” Lance spat out, trying to get as much disdain as he could on every syllable.

Taken aback, Autumn looked directly at him for the first time, her eyes worried and a little fearful. Lance felt a little nagging to ease up on her, but stifled it as quickly as it came.

"No, she’s gonna put me down, I put her down. That’s how it works now."

“Well get the guitar then!” Lance demanded, causing Autumn to jump a little, before she quickly grabbed the guitar and rested it on her knee. The wrong way around.

“Are you stupid or something?”

Autumn looked up again, the fear in her eyes overtaking the worry, her breathing becoming a bit more rapid.

“It’s a right-handed guitar numbskull!” Lance said angrily. “It goes here!”

Lance stretched across and forcefully moved the guitar round, putting the instrument in its rightful position.

Autumn looked dumbstruck, a flurry of emotions showing on her face, before becoming still, as if accepting her fate.

“So, it looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do with you then. Alright, let’s get started then.” Lance said dejectedly, just wanting this whole sordid business to be over and done with.

And so the lesson went. Lance insulting every mistake, deriding every lack of knowledge on her part, showing her what to do and getting more and more angry for that long, insufferable hour.

Autumn remained quiet throughout, a flinch or flicker of emotion in the eyes, but otherwise as silent as the grave.

The lesson over, Lance lead her to the door and all but slammed it behind her. He was absolutely steaming.

"How dare she?! I give her a free lesson and what? She looks at me like I’m not worth the time of day? Fuck her. Fuck her fucking silent treatment face."

And with that Lance all but flung himself into the kitchen, grabbing the largest glass and the strongest whiskey they had, pouring himself an easy triple measure.

"Fuck the bovine. Fuck the raccoon. Fuck fucking fuck!"

Slamming the empty tumbler down, the alcohol burning his throat, causing his eyes to tear up, Lance poured himself another triple measure. Then a quadruple. Then back to triples. Then another. And another. And another. And another. And… then Lance woke up, his head full of pain, his body full of cramp, the bathroom floor full of cold, and the toilet full of cold sick and shame.

With every minute movement causing him unparalleled pain, Lance got up, flushed the disgusting contents away, and wiped his foul mouth clean, the bile staining his fur and the stink latched onto his fur for the foreseeable.

Falling into the shower, his paw mechanically turning the water on full blast, to hell with the temperature, Lance lay at the bottom of the shower cubicle, fully clothed, letting the results of his sordid activities wash away, though his shame clung on.

As the water flowed over him, Lance could only conjure one single coherent thought amongst all the aches and pains he had inflicted upon himself.

"This is going to be a long week."


	6. Didn't It Rain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being home alone, with the windows shut, doesn't mean that the storm cannot find a way in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took a long time, didn't it? I apologise to everyone who have been waiting for the next part of the story! I have been incredibly busy with moving, getting a new job, settling in, and going through what felt like editing limbo! But now it is finally done and can be shown to the world! I just hope it was worth it! Thank you to my editors thenameskipper and wildtimesllc/Palmito for looking over and giving me their advice and editing skills. This chapter would not be here without you two! So, as always, Sing is owned by Illumination Entertainment. I do not own any of the characters apart from my own OCs. I hope you enjoy this next part in Lance's post film life!

The usual set of seven sad days, containing regular doses of self-loathing and being treated as a pariah, occurred as Lance prophesied. Words were said, tempers flared, and copious amounts of whiskey entered the porcupine’s bloodstream. Business as usual. But as the week fizzled out, that single instance of negativity seemed to act like untreated wound, with it beginning to fester and ooze pus, devastating Lance’s ability to function as the negativity spread through the bloodstream of the world.

Videos of Lance’s little confrontation with Beth had sprung up on the internet like weeds. All of them had somehow managed to conveniently skip out on the prelude to the action and cut straight to the good stuff; i.e.: Lance looking like he was on the verge of assaulting an ‘ _innocent ungulate_ ’ which only fed the flames of the Lance hate-dom. Blogs and vlogs that had been regurgitating the same information for months simultaneously experienced revivals that would put Lazarus to shame. In a unified voice, they hailed their new bovine martyr, stoking the fires of the Anti-Lance cause and reigniting Ashgate once more.

One of the few things that Lance couldn’t fault Ash for was that she at least left his face out of any reports she gave. True, she had dragged his name through the mud with the reveal all story, but she outwardly refused to reveal the face of his boyfriend. Sure, she said it was about not giving him publicity he didn’t deserve, but it still allowed him some degree of anonymity; at the same time, however, there was twenty-four-hour news coverage on every gossip TV show, magazine and social media account imaginable. All showing the same wobbly amateur footage, extinguishing Lance’s already tenuous grasp on a normal life.

As footage of the incident became increasingly well known, the already feeble chances at securing business went down the drain. Businesses, even ones at which he’d previously performed, both pre-  and post-Ashgate, were now slamming doors in Lance’s face, with ripped up card confetti fluttering down at his hind paws.

Animals that had once come up to him with inquisitive questions about his guitar lessons were now crossing the street just to avoid him. Then there were the ones whose anger couldn’t be quenched by mere avoidance, their rage only satiated by a loud confrontation with spiteful insinuations cascading out of their mouths.

And that always left the same two options: leave quiet and impotent, only to be left seething later as his apparent admission of guilt made its way round the internet or to let the anger loose, raw and unchecked, which would then be immediately uploaded to the internet. Both left Lance with fits of rage, deep depressions, and an alarming number of empty bottles of whiskey.

Not even Becky was immune from his spiralling fortunes. After their brief honeymoon period of acting like a normal couple, Becky was shoved unceremoniously under the microscope.

Being ignored and spoken ill of was nothing new to Becky, but it really began to hit home when animals started to refuse her services as a realtor. Becky’s sales plummeted, and her co-workers began to mutter amongst themselves, giving her odd looks and putting her at a cool distance.

Lance had wondered why Becky hadn’t dumped him already with this hatred resurfacing. She had ample opportunity, but she would come away relatively unscathed, most of the hatred being firmly focused on Lance. Perhaps she feared that if she dumped him now animals would think that she never loved him in the first place, and had had enough of the negative attention. At least that wasn’t true. She loved him, or at least she had, and she was at least going to reluctantly make a show of trying.

Yet, despite this knowledge, Lance wasn’t making things easier. He ignored Becky’s advice, her embraces, and had even starting to avoid her altogether. When they were together it almost always ended angrily, their fragile relationship being strained with each passing day.

Everything was becoming a frustration for Lance. His inability to get his business off the ground, to remain calm, to stop watching the newest video deriding him on his phone, to mend fences with Becky and, to add insult to injury, to get Autumn to learn a freaking E-chord as she dutifully continued to come every Wednesday for her lessons.

She turned up, quiet as ever, picking at her jumper, while Lance angrily instructed her to play his songs. Each note coming out as an either barely audible or an eardrum shattering wail, her paw not even remotely in the shape of the chord he’d shown her.

Each time this happened he got angry. Each time he berated her. Each time he showed her again. And each time she remained silent, pitifully playing out her hour session, before placing a rumpled ten-dollar bill on the table and quietly leaving as Lance further drowned himself in sorrow and booze.

It was almost a blessed relief that the storm hit when it did.

It was the Wednesday of Autumn’s fourth session that Mother Nature decided to spice things up a bit, levying a thunderstorm upon Las Animales. The rain crashed into everything, the wind clashed against any animal that dared venture outside, the ominous rumbles of thunder crept closer and closer, like a hunter closing in on its weak and wounded prey, preparing for the final blow.

In the midst of the tempest, Lance lay on the sofa in the front room, his head pounding nearly as strongly as the thunder outside. The Johnnie Walker Red from the night before sat on the table nearly empty, with its twin brother poking out the unemptied bin, having died the night before.

Groaning softly to himself, Lance dragged his paws across his face, accidentally inhaling and getting a whiff of his own pungent breath, heavily laced with stale alcohol and fast food.

He had been sleeping on the couch for a week and a half now, the quilt thrown haphazardly over himself, with half of the black cotton trailing onto the floor. It was a comfy enough sofa to sit on but, as Lance had discovered, not the nicest to sleep on.

He’d made the effort to look like he was being productive for Becky. He dressed and showered, and pretended to make himself busy with gathering his things for another day of advertising. But as soon as Becky left with sleepless eyes and a weary expression, Lance abandoned all pretence and flopped down on the settee, not even remotely willing to face the day.

With his body aching, his head thumping, and his stomach growling, Lance rolled off the sofa and let his stomach lead led him to the kitchen.

Taking out whatever fast food leftovers he had, Lance dumped them all on a plate before whamming them into the microwave. The loud whir increased the dull throb in Lance’s head as the sharp ding afterwards only accentuated his need for painkillers.

Chowing down on the smorgasbord of Chinese, Malaysian, Indian, and Mexican veggie meals, the taste not even registering on his tongue, Lance took a cursory glance at the wall clock.

14:48.

“Damn,” Lance thought quietly, not risking any more unwanted noise for his head’s sake. “Where did the time go? I swore I only snoozed for a little bit.”

Pushing the last veggie roll down his gullet, Lance gave an ungracious burp before chucking the plate into the dishwasher and sitting against the sofa, his quills splaying in all directions against the fabric.

Idly grabbing the dying bottle, Lance removed the cap and took a long swig, the hair of the dog burning against his throat.

“Keep going like this Lance and you’ll start to get a problem,” Lance reprimanded himself before taking another swig. “Ah, sod it. It’s not like you’re gonna be doing anything today anyway.”

As if to punctuate that thought, the tremendous downpour once again asserted its presence. The thunder now sounded as if an artillery barrage was going off right mere metres from him, with its liquid shells being fired directly against his window as if to try and obliterate the glass barricade through an unrelenting volley fire.

Looking up to the window, the fleeting image of a scrawny raccoon passed through his mind. Briefly glancing at his phone, he saw no messages from his only pupil calling the thing off but, then again, she hadn’t texted him since that night nearly a month ago.

“There’s no way she’ll be coming in this. At least, no sane mammal would.” Lance reasoned to himself before chugging down the remnants of the liquor. After setting the bottle down, made himself comfy as he began to doze.

Just as his mind was about drifted off, a slow dull knocking forced him back to reality. Lazily glancing at the door, looking at it as if it had made the noise.

“Probably my imagination.” Lance thought as he made himself comfy again, shutting his eyes once again.

Another slow knock, this time a bit louder, came from the door. Giving an irritated sigh, Lance forced himself up and stalked over to the door, grabbing the door handle and violently swinging it open.

“The hell is it? D’you not know there’s a friggin’ thun-”

Any spite or residual effects of his hangover that Lance had vanished into the blue.

Standing before him was a sopping wet, mud covered, shivering raccoon. She stood there, head bowed, clothes in ruins, and with an expanding pool of water forming beneath her hind paws.

Although it probably only a few seconds, it felt like a hundred years to Lance, and probably an eternity for the drenched raccoon, as they stood motionless either side of the doorframe. In that moment, questions assailed Lance’s mind, all vying for the utmost attention.

_What is she doing here? Why is she wet? Why is she covered in mud? Is that a twig stuck in her fur? What happened to her clothes? Why isn’t she wearing a coat? Why is she shivering so much? How long has she been standing here before knocking on the door? Why hasn’t she gone home? Why the hell did she leave home?_

All these questions bounced around Lance’s mind like a pinball, ricocheting off every surface, until one managed to sail pass his defences and rolled out of his mouth.

“Are you okay?”

For the first time in weeks there was no venom, no hatred, no irritation. It had all disappeared with one calm, slightly worried question. Lance’s body, wracked with tension, was now all forgotten about as all the attention went onto the quivering mammal before in him.

Autumn looked like she was about to reply, her jaw slowly working open, before clenching shut and she shook her head slowly, a few drops of water freeing themselves from her fur as she did so.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Lance said, ushering the waterlogged raccoon into the room, not bothering to clean the puddle she had left in the hallway.

Leaving Autumn standing in the living room, Lance hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a spare towel from their tiny airing cupboard before hurrying back to the drenched mammal.

“Use this. I’m pretty sure any of the shampoos and stuff we’ve got will work for your fur.” Lance said, offering the towel to Autumn.

Autumn gave the towel a wary look, as if she was being offered a red apple by a suspicious old lizard.

“Autumn,” Lance began, using her name for the first time in a while. “Please take the towel. You’re soaking wet. Go and get a hot shower and get rid of all the muck on you. I’ll get you some dry clothes for you, you’re not staying in those.”

“Are… are you sure?” came the reply, Autumn’s jaw chattering a little as she spoke.

“ _Ugh_ , Yes,” Lance said softly. “It’s absolutely fine. I’m not angry or anything. I just don’t want you getting sick.”

Autumn meekly nodded before finally accepting the towel.

“Just go take shower and scrape all that muck off. And before you say anything, it’s fine, I’ll clean the bathroom.” Lance said, shooting down any further protest from Autumn as she followed him to the bathroom.

Lance set up the shower, knowing it was always a chore to figure out an unknown shower. Testing the water with his paw, he turned back to the raccoon who was holding towel held away from her mud-caked body.

“That should be alright. Just leave your clothes on the floor and I’ll put them in the wash after you’re done. If you need any more towels there’s some in there, alright?” Lance said as he gestured to the airing cupboard.

Glancing round the bathroom, her eyes particularly drawn to the streaming water behind him, Autumn nodded politely.

“Okay then err... see you in a bit then.” Lance nodded, leaving the raccoon to her own devices and closing the door behind him with a dull click.

Hearing the shower cubicle door close, he headed over to their room and began rummaging for some clothes for her to wear. It didn’t take long for him to realise that giving her some of Becky’s clothes was perhaps not the wisest move. He could see the conversation now, an irritated Becky inexplicably coming home after a terrible day’s work and awful weather to find Lance at home with a raccoon in her clothes.

Eventually settled on an old but warm looking hoodie, a pair of jeans he thought would be vast improvement over her current ones, and a thick pair of woollen socks. Delicately folding them, Lance carefully placed them in a neat pile outside the bathroom door.

“Hey,” Lance called out, knocking on the door to get her attention over the running water. “I’ve left some clothes out here for you, okay?”

Not hearing anything in reply, he gave a shrug and made his way to the living room, hoping the message had gotten through. 

After correctly concluding that the living room was an absolute dump, Lance got to work tidying up the place. In quick time Lance put away the blanket, got rid of the dead bottles, beat his body shape out of the sofa cushions, and briefly braved the elements to empty the overflowing bin.

Just as Lance hooked the new bag into place, a door quickly clicking open and shut caught his attention. Peering down the corridor, Lance saw that the pile of clean clothes had disappeared. In its stead however was an equally well folded, yet completely rancid, set of clothes. Picking them up, Lance strolled over to the kitchen and bunged them in the washing machine, letting the magic of detergent do its work.

“I hope I don’t shrink them. It’s all she ever seems to wear.” Lance mused, before realising that for all her time in the competition, Ash had worn the same set of clothes. Come to think of it, he wore similar looking clothes all the time too.

“Okay, maybe it isn’t too weird then.”

As the washing machine spun with in therapeutic regularity, Lance flicked through his phone, deleting more abusive emails he’d gotten in his work account. It was the usual vulgar stuff that Lance could have easily deleted in one go, but Lance went through them all in the vain hope that one could be about a prospective student or a gig.

It was another five minutes or so before the bathroom door opened again and soft pawsteps came from down the corridor. Looking up at the raccoon, Lance stifled a little chuckle. Though she was only half a head shorter than him, the clothes looked like they were for a mammal twice her size. Lance wasn’t exactly a large guy, but the hoodie completely swamped her tiny frame and the jeans looked like they would drop at a moment’s notice if it weren’t for a clenched paw keeping them up and preventing further embarrassment.

“Well, at least the socks fit.” Lance noted. But, then again, the jeans hid all but the very tips of the toes, so it was only a guess at this point.

“Erm, d’you want a drink or something?” Lance offered absentmindedly hopping off the sofa and making his way to the kitchen. “We’ve got tea, coffee, hot chocolate, some juice I think? What would you like?”

“Ho-hot chocolate... please.” Autumn said, her mind preoccupied somewhat as she clasped at the loose jeans.

“I can get you a belt if you like. We wouldn’t want you to erm, you know, reveal anything.” Lance said, a mild blush forming under his dark fur.

“O-okay,” Autumn replied, a harder, more embarrassed blush forming behind her bandit’s mask as she got herself comfy. “Thank you.”

While the kettle brewed, Lance quickly got an old belt and passed it to a grateful Autumn, who proceeded to loop it round her thin waist while Lance finished up two hot chocolates, topping each with whipped cream when his search for marshmallows came to nought.

“Well it was worth a shot.” Lance internally grumbled, adding mini marshmallows to his mental shopping list.

But then, in a moment of inspiration, Lance dug around in a cupboard and pulled out a half empty packet of cookies. Pulling two out, he crumbled them up and sprinkled them into Autumn’s mug. Happy with the substitute, Lance proceeded to do the same to his own mug, albeit with a single cookie.

Walking over and handing the piping hot mug to Autumn, Lance began to blow atop his creation before taking a tentative sip. Tongue slightly burned, but not regretting it, he looked over at his raccoon student. She was still holding it her paws, with no sign have even attempting to cool the liquid or lick the cream on top, seeming almost content to continue staring at it as if it was some sort of revered object.

However, mere admiration could not satiate the raccoon forever, as she slowly lifted the mug to her mouth and she took a hesitant sip. Her eyes widening in shock, she pulled her face away with a sharp gasp from the heat and a new white moustache coating her upper lip. Lance chuckled a little at her almost childlike wonder and actions with such a simple drink. 

“You’ve got a little something there.” Lance chuckled, pointing to his own upper lip.

Looking down with crossed eyes, Autumn dragged her lip around her muzzle, her eyes lighting up as the cream hit her taste buds.

“You enjoying it then?” Lance asked, bringing his own hot chocolate to his own mouth after giving it a cooling blow.

Autumn nodded enthusiastically, her lips curling into a sweet smile before gulping down another mouthful and moaning lightly in delight.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. The rain against the window pane. The low rumblings of thunder. Autumn’s occasionally loud gulp of hot chocolate. It was comforting; the two of them sitting together in the warm and dry, safe from the terrors outside.

Upending his mug to get the last few dregs, Lance popped his mug down on the table and looked over at Autumn, who was still nursing the last few sips of her drink.

Looking at her now, Lance had to admit she cleaned up very well. Autumn had been in such a filthy state every time she had visited that Lance had begun to wonder whether she was more grime than mammal. Her fur, although still looking like brittle straw, was a vast improvement over its usual unkempt condition. She almost looked healthy now, especially with her tiny smile directed at the hot chocolate in her paws.

“You enjoyed the shower then?” Lance commented, turning to look at her as he did.

“Hmm.” Autumn replied as she downed the last of the hot chocolate, her face lighting up as she savoured the sugary sweet nectar.

“It was very nice, thank you,” Autumn said, bowing her head a little politely. “I’m sorry, your shower is a bit… messy.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Lance waved his paw dismissively. “Can’t be any worse of a state than I’ve left it in.”

“Are you sure?” Autumn said, a little embarrassed at the state she had left his bathroom in.

“Trust me, it’s fine. Just glad you’re clean and warm. Are the clothes alright? Don’t think my girlfriend’s stuff would fit you.” Lance half lied, seeing that probably all their clothes would completely envelop the thin raccoon.

“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.” Autumn replied, wrapping the loose material of the hoodie against her, finding comfort in its warmth.

“I’ve got to ask though,” Lance asked, chuckling a little at Autumn’s reaction. “How’d you manage to get all that on you? I thought you were a mud monster or something for a second when I opened the door.”

The gentle smile that had been present on her muzzle slipped off, replaced by a worried frown. She put the mug on the table, before twiddling at the hoodies sleeves.

“I erm…” she began hesitantly. “Slipped.”

“Slipped? Slipped where?” Lance questioned, a little puzzled.

“When I was walking here.” She responded quietly, pulling her hoodies’ neckline over her muzzle, as if to hide her unease at the questions being levied at her.

“What, by the bus stop or something?” With the weather raging as it was, Lance could readily believe vast rivers filled with refuse had formed in the streets, the foulness accumulating at the bus stops before unsteady mammals took a tumble into its murky depths.

“Not… not exactly…” Autumn trailed off, looking more awkward by the second.

Lance felt the irritation at her evasiveness building up within his chest, his mind ready just to yell abruptly for answer already, but seeing her worry and nervousness, Lance pushed down his initial reaction and tried to remain calm.

“Hey, it’s okay” Lance said, gently placing a paw on her shoulder. “It’s okay, I won’t get mad. Promise.”

Trying his best to give Autumn a reassuring smile, Lance felt her concede as her body rose and fell with a small sigh.

“I erm, I fell into a ditch… in Paneris.” Autumn admitted, half her face still hidden by the hoodie.

“Paneris?" Lance couldn’t help blurting out. “Why didn’t you go home and change then? I’m sure you could have gotten another bus after you sorted yourself out.”

“I don’t get the bus.”

“Then, what’d you do? Does someone drop you off here or something?”

Autumn remained silent, her hoodie twiddling increasing as her discomfort increased.

“Autumn, just tell me,” Lance asked. “I’m just concerned. You looked a mess at that door. It looks like you walked all the way here!”

Autumn’s twiddling suddenly stopped, before she sunk into her hoodie cocoon.

“She doesn’t,” Lance thought. “No way she does. Does she?”

“Autumn,” Lance asked, his concern beginning to mount. “Autumn, you didn’t walk here today, did you?”

Her silence spoke volumes, as she rolls her paws in the sleeves and sunk lower into the cushion.

“She walks here?  Lance thought, the madness of her trip sinking in. “She walks all the way here? It’s, what, a fifteen-minute bus ride to Apolovia and about the same again to her house. Hell, she can’t be walking over an hour just for lessons, can she?”

But looking at the mammal sat next to him, still surrounded by her little fortress of cotton, Lance could see she wasn’t the sort of mammal to tell a lie like that, or perhaps even lie at all. She was honesty walking over an hour every Wednesday, through bitter cold and thunderstorms, just to have a lesson with him. And what was she getting? Abuse for not learning his songs. Lance internally cringed, the memories of his words and actions towards her playing through his mind in high definition.

Lance shifted awkwardly in his seat, the silence anchoring him down, as his thoughts shifted between self-acquittal and self-criticism. 

“Why, why do I feel wrong? It’s not my fault she walks here every day! She could just take the bus like a normal person. Or ring me and cancel! She’s got a goddamn phone, why the hell doesn’t she use it for once?!

“But, I made her come. I told her she had to come. These lessons are to pay back a debt. She’s coming because she must, not because she wants to. She’s obligated, not willing.

“But it’s her own fault for not taking my bloody money! She could have just taken the cash and this would all be over with! She’d be doing whatever the hell she does in that shithole of a house and I’d be getting students that actually respect my talents. That’s what should be happening. That’s what I deserve. That’s what I’m entitled to. That’s…”

Lance looked down at his paws, a slight tremor running through them as he slowly clenched and unclenched his digits, his slightly regrown and blunt claws gently pressing into his palm. 

“That’s not right.” he thought, his claws taking the pressure of his paws. “Sure, she wanted to pay the debt back but there were a million ways I could have asked her to do it. And she turns up every week, cash in hand. She could have just bailed and never come to any of my lessons.”

He glanced over at Autumn, the raccoon still in her own little world as he had just been, still lost in the mass of oversized clothes.

“But she comes every week. She endures everything I throw at her. She must know her playing is atrocious. She can’t be that delusional. So why? Why does she come?”

With that thought playing through his mind, the porcupine's lips seemed to act on their own accord and before he could stop himself, a question tumbled out of his mouth and into the open. 

“Why’d you want to learn guitar?”

Autumn looked up at Lance, a note of surprise in her face, one that was replicated on Lance’s own. 

“Did… did I just say that?” Lance thought, his mind not completely comprehending the weirdly normal sounding question he’d just asked.

As he wrestled with this conundrum, the cogs began to lethargically whir in Autumn’s head. Eventually, Autumn’s mouth decided to produce an answer.

“I… I like looking… at them.”

“Looking at them?” Lance replied, cocking his head in curiosity as his internal debate was pushed to the side.

“Yeah,” Autumn continued, lifting her muzzle out of its cotton prison, a nostalgic look appearing in her eyes. “I go to town sometimes and look at the guitars in the store window. They look so… beautiful. Sometimes I get to hear music playing inside. It sounds so… otherworldly.”

“Otherworldly?”

“Yeah,” Autumn embarrassedly admitted. “I mean, all those different sounds coming from one thing. It doesn’t seem real. It’s kind of weird but it’s also kind of amazing.”

Lance felt his grin thin growing wider the whole time she spoke. Perhaps without even realising it, she had hit the nail on the head. It was otherworldly. It had spanned the centuries. Morphing from an ancient harp-like instruments, to the medieval lutes, to something that everyone recognised and knew immediately. From an instrument played at Court, to an instrument played to court the masses. An instrument for the few, to an instrument for the many. It had gone on a magnificent journey throughout the ages, and spawned many different offspring, but all were essentially the same.

All incarnations of the guitar could be used to express your deepest held beliefs, your incredible joyous highs and piteous depressing lows. You could hide yourself in music or bare your very soul to the world. It was a feeling like no other could even claim to come near to.

“Yeah, it kind of is, isn’t it?” Lance breathed out, a genuine smile plastered on his face. Looking over at Autumn, a small smile was etched on her face. She looked relieved, as if that feeling had been pent up within her and she was grateful for someone to accept and agree with her thoughts.

“I remember when I first realised what a guitar could do.” Lance said, as he got himself comfy on the sofa, his eyes glazing over with near forgotten memories.

“I think it was my seventh birthday, or just after, I can’t remember exactly, but I remember watching _Back to the Future_ for the first time.”

Lance fidgeted for a second, mulling the words over in his head before continuing.

“My err, my mum brought it out specially. She said it was about time I was initiated. I had absolutely no idea what she meant but she was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement, so I had no choice but to watch it.”

Lance chuckled and looked over at Autumn, her body turned towards her as she kneeled on the sofa, her eyes willing him to continue.

“Yeah, she had it on video. She probably got it the day it came out, but it looked brand new in that box. I just snuggled on the sofa next to her after she hit the play button on the tele. She didn’t even cover my ears for the swears like she usually did. I only realised she hadn’t until afterwards but, in that moment, we both too absorbed with them film and just let it wash over us. It’s still one of my faves, if not my all-time favourite. What about you? What do you think of it?”

“I’ve not seen it.” Autumn quietly admitted, slowly shaking her head as she did so.

“What?!” Lance reflexively yelled in shock, causing Autumn to instinctively flinch. “Well we’re gonna have to sort that soon! How the hell have you not watched _Back to the Future_? That’s a crime in of itself! Seriously, I need to get you to watch that film, I think I got a copy of it around here somewhere…”

The tension that had suddenly spiked in Autumn after Lance’s initial outburst slowly thawed, as Lance continued to fanboy over the film, his passion and joy taking over everything with him. Seeing this, Autumn gave a small smile, enjoying how Lance talked about this film with so much fervour. It was as if he morphed into a completely new animal. 

“Anyway, I won’t spoil anything,” Lance said, continuing his speech of sci-fi adoration. “But there’s this bit where Marty McFly, that’s the main character, has to play in this band ‘cos their guitarist bust his hand. So, he’s playing and all that and the singer says to do another one that ‘ _really cooks’_. So, Marty goes up there and absolutely nails _Johnny B. Goode_ with his own flair at the end that leaves everyone speechless.”

Having gazed back into the past, Lance could still see the scene. His tiny astounded eyes glued to the tiny twelve-inch TV. Their old VCR player hooked up to it on the other side. Their shoebox living room with the tatty green settee with well-worn but immaculate cushions. He sat there, pressed up against his mum’s side, only vaguely aware of her warm presence, as his eyes were glued to the screen, absorbing every detail like a sponge.

“I mean, I just couldn’t believe it. It sounded so amazing. It was as if I was there, in that tiny TV, with them all in that dance hall, watching him rock his heart out and doing what he loved to do. I think I cried. Or at least my mum said I did. I can’t remember. And I couldn’t have cared less anyway. I just remember wanting to get a guitar. To learn how to play that song. To be Marty McFly. I think that was my mum’s plan all along since about a week later she surprised me with my very own guitar. It was the same red as Marty’s as well. I played that thing to oblivion!” Lance finished with a laugh, a slight tear forming in the corner of his eye.

“Did you learn the song?”

Lance suddenly became acutely aware of Autumn’s presence, her piqued interested written all over her face and her body language betraying her almost giddy anticipation. It was definitely a far cry from the miserable Autumn that had turned up on his doorstep not a short time ago.

“Oh, definitely. I practiced that song for ages. Could never get the duckwalk though.” Lance laughed. Looking over to Autumn, a puzzled look on her face, Lance laughed even more.

“Anyway, mum showed me how to play guitar. She was very patient since I buggered up all the time, but I got it in the end. After that, she started teaching me all these songs and chords and scales and everything. Pretty much everything she knew.” Lance finished with a wistful sigh before his face slowly dropped into a sombre look, as his paws slowly clenched.

“What’s your favourite song then?” Autumn asked, a note of worry in her voice from Lance’s sudden shift of mood.

“Huh?” Lance replied, coming out of his introspection. “Oh, I mean I’ve got loads of them. I guess my first favourite was _Here Comes the Sun_. It’s… one of my mum’s faves too.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“How’d you not know it?” Lance blurted out, his momentary misery completely forgotten. “It’s a classic!”

With quick movements, Lance launched himself off the sofa, sped into his room, grabbed his uncased guitar, and flung himself back on the sofa. With skilled paws, Lance had tested and re-tuned his guitar in record time.

“It’s probably not gonna be the best, nowhere near George’s or even my mum’s renditions, but you’ll get the gist.” Lance said before picking the opening notes.

It all flowed so easily, his paw moving fluidly as he strummed and plucked with effortlessly practiced ease. His eyes soon closed, as he hummed the tune softly as he continued to play, feeling the music move through him.

Behind his eyelids memories flowed together in perfect harmony. Summers in the park with cubs and kits running every direction, climbing trees, making all kinds of incomparable noises. Eating fish ‘n’ chips in the garden as the cool summer breeze soothed their boiled bodies before the night crept round them. Lopsided birthday cake baked with the temperamental oven in their tiny kitchen. The laughter as he ate the charred surface and the somehow uncooked gooey insides. Then came the day’s end as he was tucked in bed and lulled to sleep as his mum’s dulcet tones as he was set on a voyage of blissful dreams.

Strumming the final gentle chord, Lance opened his eyes. His cheeks felt a little rosy and lips had curled into a contented grin before he shook himself free of the nostalgia.

Freeing his mind of the past, Lance looked over at Autumn and was met with an unreadable mask, with all hints of joy or disgust completely hidden from Lance’s eyes.

“Yeah, I know. Nowhere as good as the original,” Lance chuckled nervously, unsure really what to say to Autumn’s lack of reaction. “But, you know, it makes me happy.”

And it did. Lance couldn’t help but grin. He didn’t care how long it took him to get the chords and picking down, he spent hour after hour, day after day, week after week, heck, even month after month, trying to get that song as perfect as possible. And yeah, it may never reach the heights of his memories but, for once, he didn’t care. It just made him happy and, for once, it was enough to make to make him give a genuinely happy and stupid smile.

“Play it again.”

“Huh?” Lance’s smile suddenly replaced by a wide, gaping mouth. Looking at Autumn, her face remained as expressionless as ever, but her eyes had suddenly become keener, more expressive, more alive than before.

“Play it again,” she said, softly emphasising each word with a tiny pause.

“O-okay.” Lance responded, readjusting his paws on the guitar’s neck as he began once more.

This time however, Lance kept a sly eye on Autumn, glancing over to her as he played again for her. his eyelids open a tiny slit to allow him to peer at Autumn while he played and hummed along.

She watched entranced, her eyes glued to his paw, as it moved from one position to the next. Her muzzle came out in a tooth grin, her white fangs a charming contrasting her black lips. She even started gently bouncing on her haunches, her grin growing wider as she was getting more and more into it.

Then one of her paws started moving along, moving to copy the positions he was making. She wasn’t quite getting it, not having the fret to go against always made it harder, but it looked convincing enough, especially when her other paw joined in and started strumming and picking along.

“An air guitarist in the making.” Lance chuckled to himself. Then he noticed and, were it not for his musical autopilot, he might have stopped playing altogether.

She was playing left-pawed.

It all made sense now.

“No wonder she held the guitar that way on her first week,” Lance internally yelled, mentally kicking himself for not noticing or even asking such a basic question. “She’s left-bloody-pawed! And I had to put my damn foot in it. No wonder she’s been struggling so much! God, I’m such an ass…”

Finishing up the song, Lance opened his eyes fully, pretending not to have seen her play along as she composed herself seconds before the final strum.

“So, how was it?” Lance asked, trying to keep himself from sounding too smug.

Autumn was silent for a few seconds, giving Lance pause as to whether she was truly enjoying his music or whether she just liked seeing a guitar being used.

“What other songs do you know?” Autumn asked, her eyes brimming with interest.

For the next few hours, even after the storm clouds had scattered and blue skies returned, the flat was full of voiceless songs as Lance gave a mini concert on his sofa. Playing songs from his pettehood, rock classics, obscure gems, and ones that Autumn quietly requested, Lance smiled and put his all into each one.

But what his smile stay was Autumn’s reaction. With every song completed, Autumn’s shell cracked a little more, revealing more of the animal beneath the shy exterior. She started smiling openly, playing along when she thought eyes weren’t looking, and even quietly humming along if she knew the tune particularly well.

Then the dryer had to signal the end of the show.

A quick change of clothes and an old pair of Lance’s converse adorning her hindpaws, her own shoes having disintegrated when she tried to put them on, Autumn was ready to leave. She tried to pay for her time, bringing out a warm ten-dollar bill that had been washed and dried with her clothes.

“I’m not taking your money Autumn,” Lance reiterated, pushing the money back into her paw. “It’s not right to take your money. Just make sure you come back clean next time. I don’t animals mistaking you for a swamp monster or something.”

Getting a light chuckle out of her, Autumn pocketed the clean bill.

“Thank you for the lesson today Mr. Morgan.” Autumn said politely, before turning and clicking the door shut behind her, her tail swishing as she left.

Lance looked back at the room, now devoid of sound, but brimming with glee. It had been a while since Lance played like that, just for fun, just for himself. Well, mainly for himself. It felt good.

Looking at his guitar, gently propped against the sofa, Lance mind flashed back to Autumn, the raccoon smiling as she played along like an excited little cub. He smiled with a genuineness that he had not felt in ages as a plan formed in his mind. He knew what he had to do.


	7. And the Morning Comes

One week on and Lance was nervously pacing round the living room, his restless body refusing to just let him sit and be calm.

The day after Autumn’s visit Lance had made his way back down to _Marv’s Music_ , the shabbily dressed Pine Marten still manning the desk. He spent two hours there; getting song sheets, learner’s guides, books on teaching, as well as seventy-four thousand stripe-based jokes.

“Why did I have to wear that shirt again?” Lance bemoaned, remembering how the Pine Marten’s eyes had lit up with devilish glee as Lance crossed the threshold.

But, to his credit, when he wasn’t ribbing him he was actually very helpful, giving Lance what felt like a whole encyclopaedia’s worth of pointers and tips. He was even gracious enough to take a stack of his cards, popping them on the counter and promising only to send the most desperate and gullible saps his way. Oh, and he wanted a ten per cent commission.

“Still a money-grubbing prick though.” Lance sniggered to himself as he lugged his haul out the shops and back home. Though it had given him red-raw paws and a haemorrhaging bank account, it had been worth it.

The rest of the week was spent handing out cards and dealing with vindictive mammals and, while Lance still felt like the wronged party, he sucked up his pride and did his utmost to show that he was trying to turn over a new leaf. Though a lot of mammals thought he was faking it and turned him away, some accepted his words and took his cards from him.

Smiling at being given yet another chance, Lance was doing his final check when three little knocks made him bound over to the door. Swinging it open it revealed a smiling Autumn. Though a little messier than when she left the week before, she was at least in clean clothes and his old shoes.

Gesturing for her to come in and sit down, Lance brought out a small plastic folder and his guitar before getting himself comfy on the settee.

“Better to bite the bullet soon than later.” Lance thought.

“Okay, so the last few weeks have been… difficult,” Lance admitted. “And that’s been my fault. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the songs, not for a beginner. Maybe someday but not now.”

Rummaging in the folder, Lance pulled out a folded piece of A3 paper.

“So, what we’re going to do now is something easier. Don’t worry it’s only three chords so it should be fine. Ever heard of _Songbird?_ ”

Unfolding the paper, it showed the words of the song with the chord names, chord shape and even the direction of how the guitar should be strummed. Autumn’s eyes widened as she took it in.

“I’m gonna have to thank that smug bastard for this.” Lance mused, already seeing the smirk and jokes pouring out of him.

“Okay, so it’s just G,” Lance said, showing the chord shape on the guitar as he did. “F sharp and E minor, okay?”

Autumn nodded, a little hesitant as she watched his paw on the guitar.

“You want to give it a go?”

Autumn stole a quick glance at the well-worn guitar, already propped against the coffee table. Lance could already see her body tensing, practically feeling the fear radiating from her.

“Best nip this in the bud before she starts having a little freak-out.”

“Oh, I probably should have asked this before but better late than never, I guess,” Lance said, acting as if it had just suddenly occurred to him. “Are you left or right-pawed?”

Looking up from his paws to his eyes, Lance could see Autumn’s growing hesitancy halt for a second, replaced by a questioning gaze.

“Le-left. I’m left-pawed.” She confessed, bowing her head as guilt started to seep in.

“Thought so.” Lance declared, putting his guitar down and moving to his room with purpose, Autumn following him from the sofa with confused eyes.

Grabbing something propped against the door and doing his level best to conceal it behind himself, Lance awkwardly walked over to Autumn, keeping his front to her.

“So,” Lance said with a theatrical air. “I thought this might help.”

Revealing it with a flourish, Autumn gave a sharp gasp, her startled eyes staring at the object in Lance’s paw.

It was a left-pawed guitar. Its body was a mellow yellow, like a leaf in fall, and in glorious condition.

“Think this might help?” Lance said, unable to hide his satisfied smirk any longer.

Presenting her guitar, Lance watched as Autumn took it with a tentative paw before placing it in her lap. Running her paws across the smooth wood, before taking a few tentative plucks of the strings, Lance let out a small chuckle. Sitting there like that, fiddling with the guitar, Autumn could not look more at ease. She looked completely at peace with the instrument in her lap, as if it always belonged there.

“You ready to start then?”

“Yes,” came the determined reply, her paw already trying to form a G chord.

“Okay”, Lance replied, “Put your digits here if you want a G chord.”

\---

It had been a couple of days since Autumn had had her lesson and Lance still could not shake the burning feeling in his chest.

He felt ecstatic. There was no other word for it.

It had gone like a dream. All the problems were gone. No forcing, no berating, no tears. Lance had calmly showed her how the chords were formed, showed her how they sounded, emphasised that going slow would be better to start with before speeding up, showed her what the song sounded like before playing along with her and then, as a grand finale, letting her play on her own. And she did well, with only one or two bum notes. She’d looked so pleased with herself, grinning widely and promising to practice as she left.

It had been relaxed, calm, and, weirdly, a lot of fun. Lance could feel a little swell of pride as Autumn made little victories in her hour session. But her little text was what sealed it.

_Thank you and see you next week :)_

Next week. In all his preparations and teaching Lance had forgotten this was the last of the obligatory sessions. But now, she _wanted_ to keep coming. In the days after Lance had to stop himself from dancing round the room lest he weird out Becky any more than she already was with happy Lance.

The good mood lasted until a few of his guitar strings snapped simultaneously during his new practice sessions, a task he had steadfastly avoided in the past. With a sigh, Lance caught the bus down to Marv’s to get a couple of new sets. This time however, Lance had the foresight to wear something non-striped which somehow made the shopping experience a bit blander without Marv’s stream of conscious remarks.

Stepping out with packs of strings in a little paper bag, Lance decided to treat himself and, wanting to avoid spending his depleting resources on the bus, walked over to the nearest Stagbucks that his phone could find.

It wasn’t long before Lance was stepping out, his guitar string bag in one paw and a piping hot cup of tea in another, the familiar fragment smell sending Lance into blissful nostalgia. However, that reverie was soon halted for as soon as her took one step forward he collided straight into a large spotted blur.

“Oof!” was all Lance could say before his grasp on his tea disappeared completely and the precious tea spilt all over the cold October ground.

With the steam now soaring skyward, Lance turned to the source of his lost caffeine. With one paw over her muzzle and another wrapped around her phone, a large leopardess stood with a shocked expression.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” the leopardess apologised. “I swear I didn’t see you down there! I was just texting my friend and I wasn’t looking where I was going! Are you okay? You’re not hurt or anything, are you? Oh god, I should have been looking where I was going. I am so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Lance said, a little thrown by the barrage of apologies. “Just lost a few quills and a cup of tea. No biggie.”

“Huh? Tea?” the leopardess said, before catching sight of the spilled beverage on the floor and looking up, seeing the antlered logo shining brightly above her.

“Oh hell, did you just buy it? Oh, I’m being such an idiot right now.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Lance began, “I’m not hurt, it was only tea. It’s not the end of the world or anything.”

“Yeah, but I still owe you a cup of tea. C’mon, I’ll get you one.”

“What? No, you’re al-”

“No, I’m not having it. I spilt it, so I’m paying for a new one.”

Before Lance could say anymore, his paw was grabbed, and he was dragged back into the coffee shop by the overly apologetic leopardess.

Back in the familiar coffee chain, most mammals were too absorbed in drinking their overpriced Frappuccino’s and Macchiato’s and slivers of carrot cake to take any interest in the porcupine being led by the paw by a still apologising leopardess.

Although the queue was mercifully short, the fact that Lance was being held in her vice like grip was mortifying. It was as if he was a naughty porcupette being dragged back by an eyewitness after she saw him steal money from the till, rather than being brought back to be bought apology tea.

“Hey, seriously, you can let go of my paw now.” Lance said, trying to get the leopardess’ attention. “

“God, I am still so mortified,” she said, not hearing Lance’s protests as she continued apologising. “I knew I should have been looking where I was going. It’s this bloody woolly hat, you know. It may be mild for some mammals but for leopards it's freezing! I have to pull it down so far and with this coat it’s like I’ve only got twenty percent vision and then I’ve got my phone in my face, so I had no chance of seeing you! I’m so sorry about that! What did you want by the way? Tea, was it?”

It took Lance half a second to realise that the meagre queue had evaporated, and he was back in front of the chameleon server, this time with a woollen clad leopardess in toe.

“C’mon, what was it? Merl Hay?”

“Earl Grey, please.” Lance said, his face still hot with embarrassment.

“One Earl Grey please,” the leopardess said, her free paw rummaging for her purse as the cashier rang it up.

“What size?” the chameleon said with a joyful, yet practiced tone.

“Erm, what size do you take?” the leopardess asked, looking down at the porcupine.

“Large Rodent,” Lance said, still wishing he could get out of the now uncomfortably warm paw he was attached to.

“Large Rodent please. And a cookie as well.”

“Coming right up!” she said chirpily, her scales changing colour as she moved quickly down the counter, before Lance could say a word.

“You didn’t need to get me a cookie as well.” Lance grumbled.

“Who said it was for you?” the leopardess quickly countered. “I gotta get my sugar fix somehow.”

The chameleon soon returned, a new piping hot tea and a cookie so large she could barely hold it in her hands.

“Here you are,” she said, resting them on the counter. “One Panthera sized cookie and one Large Rodent Earl Grey. That’ll be six ninety-five.”

“Finally letting Lance go, the leopardess quickly revealed her purse and pulled out a crisp ten-dollar note. Putting it into her hands, the leopardess leaned forward.

“Thanks cutie,” she said, her voice becoming suddenly seductive. “By the way, love your outfit. It’s very… cute.”

Leaning away with a sultry grin and the tea and cookie in paw, the chameleon’s scales had changed to the brightest shade of crimson imaginable, her mouth dropped and eyes staring at the flirtatious feline.

“Th-thank you,” was all she managed to stutter before both he and the leopardess had left, the feline managing one last swish of her tail as the door clicked shut.

As the leopardess mauled her cookie, the pieces finally started to slot in Lance’s mind.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” the leopardess responded, her mouth full of chocolate chips.

“You’re the girl who works at the erm, ‘adult shop’. I came in there the other week with a few cards for my guitar lessons and I-”

“Oh God, yeah!” the leopardess said, having swallowed her sweet treat. “I thought I recognised you, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, I could say the same for you. You’re definitely dressed differently than the last time we met. You talk the same though.”

The leopard laughed before taking another bite of her cookie.

“Hey, a girl’s gotta look the part if she wants to flog sexual aids for the discerning animals of Anopolis.”

The words rolled off her tongue so freely and without care of who heard that Lance felt obliged to look around for her, making sure that no cubs or elderly were near to hear her.

“But yeah, I get what you mean. I _love_ making animals feel good. Even if it’s just with my words.” She said, finishing it with a come-hither grin.

“And anyway, she did look cute. Didn’t you see her in that barista uniform? God, she was so adorable I wanted to eat her up then and there.” The leopardess said with a schoolgirl like glee that belied the sensual undertones.

“But anyway,” she said, finishing her cookie and licking her paws. “Sorry for knocking your tea on the ground. Hope the replacement is good.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lance said, taking an obligatory sip “it’s good. Thank you”

“Not a problem,” she said, before turning on her hind paw and started to walk off. But, after a few steps, she stopped and turned back.

“Not coming back to knock another cup out of my paws?” Lance joked.

“Hey, you’ve got free tea out of me! Count yourself lucky! I err, I just wanted to say sorry that’s all.”

“For what? You got me tea,” Lance answered, a little puzzled.

“No, not for that.” She dismissed with a wave of her paw. “I mean, well you know those cards you gave me?”

Lance nodded.

“Well, I had them under the counter for a while. A sex shop isn’t exactly the best place to be hocking music lessons, but I kept them under there anyway. But when I saw all the news, and that it was you, I sort of… threw them in the trash.”

“Makes sense,” Lance said, not wishing to labour the point on who was in the wrong. “You weren’t the only one to do it and you definitely won’t be the last.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the leopardess accepted. “But I still should have looked into it more than just blindly follow a gossip report on EweTube.”

Lance nodded, wishing more animals could come to this conclusion.

“But anyway,” she continued. “I was just wondering whether you have any more cards at all? I can’t guarantee I can put them on display, but I can ask my boss properly this time.”

“Oh erm, sure,” Lance said, a bit surprised as he rummaged in his pocket with his free paw. Grabbing a wad of cards, Lance handed them over to the leopardess.

“Thanks, I’ll make sure to ask my boss this time. Promise.”

“Thanks, and cheers for the tea by the way.”

“Siti.”

“Huh?”

“My name’s Siti. You can least thank me by name, you know?”

“Oh err, thank you Siti. I’ll see you around then?”

“Hey, our doors are always open to cute animals like you.” Siti said and, with a deliberate wink, she turned and sashayed away.

Smiling at the flirty feline, Lance took another sip of the tea, before beginning to head home.

\---

Closing the door behind him, Lance drained the last of his tea before tossing the empty paper cup into the recycling bin. Just as he collapsed on the sofa, his head resting against the soft throw cushion, a shrill ringtone made him jolt straight back up. His paw hovered over his jeans pocket before he stopped, realising that wasn’t his usual ringtone nor Becky’s as her phone was eternally tethered to her.

“Odd, whose phone is that?” Lance mumbled to himself. It definitely was coming from inside the apartment. After a few moments of searching, Lance found the noise coming from a draw in the bedroom, stashed under a few stray pieces of paper.

“Oh, my works phone,” Lance sighed. He could already see the conversation coming. Another pissed off animal trying to wreck his day just because. It had been a while since he’d had someone call him to berate him. Usually it was email or text, or to his face if they wanted the personal touch.

Deciding to get it over and done with now so he could get back to his happy mood, Lance hit the accept button and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” Lance answered tiredly.

“Hello? Is this Mr Morgan?” a gruff voice replied.

“Huh,” Lance thought. “Well, this is new.” Usually the opening gambit was to hurl obscenities from the off, knowing full well who’d be at the end of the line.

“Err, yes, speaking.” Lance warily replied.

“Oh, great!” The voice replied happily. “Sorry it’s been a while, but I’ve only just found the damn card again. Can you believe it was down behind the till? Can’t imagine how it slipped down there but Hannah found it for me at end of shift last night. She’s such a sweet girl that one.”

“Erm, okay.” Lance acknowledged, unsure what was going on right now.

“Yeah, always been helpful that girl, even if she can’t remember where her next order is meant to go and gets all flustered.”

“Okay, sorry but who’s this?” Lance asked, completely thrown off by how normal the conversation he was having.

“Oh, sorry, it has been a while, hasn’t it? It’s Alan Denning. The badger from Meagan’s?” Alan said when his name didn’t any bells.

“Oh! Mr Denning, hello! How are you?”

“Oh, mustn’t grumble,” the elderly badger replied. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while anyway.”

“Oh, what about?”

“Well, it’s about that incident a few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Lance said, his heart already sinking. “That.”

“Yeah, about that,” Alan said, his voice dropping in tone. “I just wanted to apologise to you. I’m not big on the internet but when Hannah showed me everything that was going on online, I just couldn’t stand by and let all that happen to you. That bovine was way out of line and no-one said a damn thing about her. I made a statement to my boss and told her what I saw. A load of other staff backed me up. It’s safe to say that that cow is never setting foot back in Meagan’s again.”

For all the mental explosions that were going on in Lance’s brain, taking in all that information, finally having someone take his said, all that passed his lips in response in monotone was:

“Really?”

“Yeah and boy, let me tell you that she was _not_ happy. I can see why she got on your wick to start with! She was a real piece of work.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me twice,” Lance awkwardly chuckled.

“So yeah, come down to us sometime. I’ll be sure to have your cards front and centre on our bar next time you're there. Oh, and a meal on the house. Our way of saying sorry.”

“Oh, thank you,” Lance said, the delicious meal already taking priority over the cards as his brain was awash with those tempting scents. “Thank you very much.”

“No problem. Oh, by the way, I was just wondering whether I could ask you something.”

“Erm, sure. What do you need?”

“Well my grandcub is turning ten soon and I thought it’d be nice to get him a guitar, seeing how it’s all he talks about. The kid’s music crazy! Getting it with his parents, he’s going to be thrilled.” Alan carried on joyfully.

“So, since he’s going to get an instrument, it’d be damned helpful if he could play it. So, are you still doing the lessons?”

Lance’s jaw dropped so fast that it was in danger of detaching itself from his head. He was so utterly convinced that, despite all his attempts to drum up business, that no-one would want the infamous Lance Morgan to teach them unless ordered to as punishment for some heinous crime. Even Autumn had only started attending because she felt obligated to pay a debt, not because she wanted to.

Except now Autumn did want to keep attending.

And now someone wanted to give him a chance too.

The world must be going mad.

“Hello? You still there?”

Roused from his stupor, Lance took a moment to collect his thoughts into a coherent structure before replying.

“Err, yeah, sorry about that.” Lance apologised with a breathy murmur, still trying to take it in.

“Oh good, thought I lost you there.” Mr Denning laughed. “So, what do you offer?”

“Offer?” The word slipping out in confusion before his mind slapped him for being so dense.

“Oh right, sorry! Erm, lessons are $30 for an hour, but first lesson is half price. A sort of taster session before you commit to anything, if you like. I’ll come to their house and save them the hassle of bringing him over. I’ve got song sheets the kid can keep and practice from so he’s not having to look everything up on the internet and have the hassle of finding the right stuff. I’ve also got some guitars but since the cub’s getting his own that’ll make things a whole lot easier.”

The badger mulled things over for a second, an audible hum playing down the invisible wire.

“I mean, if that’s too much I can-”

“No that’s fine. Better than some other places I’ve seen, and you seem like a nice mammal. My son said Friday’s would be good after little Lee gets in from school. Is that okay?”

“This is real, right?” Lance thought. “I mean, this is actually happening?”

“Yeah, absolutely fine.”

“Great” he exclaimed. “I’ll ring you again when I get confirmation from my son. Oh, he’s going to be so pleased. Thanks for this and I’ll give them your number to call.”

“No problem at all.” Lance replied, before the phone beeped monotonously, Alan already having hung up.

Putting the phone on top of the bedside table, Lance lay down on the bed, taking it in.

“I’ve got a student,” Lance thought, his face hurting from the smile plastered on his face. “No, I’ve got TWO students. Two bona fide students.”

Before he could even ride that emotional high, the phone rang again. Lance launched himself up and smashed the accept button.

“Hello?” Lance answered, more optimistically this time out.

“Err, yeah, is this Mr Morgan?”

“Speaking.”

“Oh, hey. I’ve just picked up this guitar and the dude at the counter gave me one of these cards. Said I might need a bit of help developing my _obvious_ talents or something.”

“Obvious my foot,” Lance thought, stifling a chuckle. “Damn, I’m gonna have to buy the bastard a drink or something now. That or another guitar if my bank account can take it.”

“Yeah, so when you free? I’ve got work on weekends and evenings so is it alright to noon-ish? Oh, how much is it by the way.”

After dealing with the cocky, not quite broken- voiced teen, Lance had several more calls throughout the day. Some had come from seeing his cards, some had come through Marv, and even a couple had come through Siti, making Lance wonder how she managed to convince animals to try learning guitar when looking at more personal items.

While his phone wasn’t ringing off the hook, it was a good start, and he needed more to pay his side of the rent. His previously barren calendar slowly began to fill up with students, times and places. By the end of the day, surveying his short list of students, one thought popped into his mind, stretching his grin to its natural limits;

“This is going to a great week. No, this is going to be great. Full stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry this chapter took forever to go up but life has been busy and I have had little time to write for this story. I hope you enjoyed this and please let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, thank you to zootopian-doctor on tumblr for helping me edit this.


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